I held on to the night, to the theory
That this recollection of your heart,
Thumping the same rhythm as mine was,
A true sentiment, not a settlement.
I held tight to the promontory, the edge
Of reason, that precarious step to the
Precipice of emoting without fear of
Humiliation. I hugged all this in the
Hope of holding more than a memory.
Note from the author, I read a wonderful poem by a lady called Tess Gallagher, also called ‘The Hug’ (I think it was in an anthology by Bloodaxe books, I’ll have to check) that really sat well with me and I’d like to quote a few lines from stanza five:
‘Clearly, a little permission
Is a dangerous thing.
But when you hug someone
You want it to be a masterpiece
I am still contemplating the first line, which felt profound and deserving of attention, but that thought on wanting the hug to be a masterpiece was superb, something I am certain we all believe to be true (I know I want all my hugs to be remembered!). There was something deeper here for me though, I felt that I wanted to give more, that a hug doesn’t necessarily have to be made of physical contact. Some poets have the ability to hold me intimately with a line, lovingly with a verse or reassuringly with an idea. Others hug me as a welcome companion, that awkward manly pat on the back or tender womanly squeeze that says ‘there is something about you that I cherish’ and all they need do to accomplish this is write a poem. Hug someone today, I dare you.
keep smiling and keep writing 🙂