The Touch Our children, once contained inside our house, Are loose — their sins now in the sun, like ours. We made for them a little world. It’s loss Does not seem loss to them. They felt as bars The fences, the embraces as restraint. They love the sun, they love the open field — And didn’t we? When did we first complain That going out is bound to get them killed? Were they contained, though — ever? At their first Cry, wasn’t every safe enclosure pierced? We built a training ground, loved it too much, Now grieve it, comically. Or, less severe — Our garden, silent now, yields gentle tears. We should plant new. Or have we lost the touch?
J-T Kelly is an innkeeper in Indianapolis. He lives in a big brick house with his wife and 5 children, his parents, and a dog.