What Rough Beast | Covid-19 Edition | 05 23 20 | Mary K O’Melveny

Mary K O’Melveny
A Fingertip Has One Hundred Nerve Endings

This fact might explain why I want to touch
every surface. Press hard against countertop,
doorframe, bed pillow Finger each avocado,
orange, purple onion. Fondle a pale
pink dogwood petal, trace each fine line to
its yellow center flower where hope resides.

Strangers and neighbors pass in hallways or
on sidewalks. I want to reach out, to hold
their hands, extend my arms. I believe they might
feel the same though we simply nod our heads.
I am one of the lucky ones. Each night,
my wife and I can explore each tender place.

—Submitted on 04/04/2020

Mary K O’Melveny is the author of A Woman of a Certain Age (2018) and Merging Star Hypotheses (2020), both on Finishing Line Press. With the other members of the Hudson Valley Women’s Writing Group, she is a co-author of An Apple In Her Hand (Codhill Press 2019). Her poetry has appeared in Slippery Elm Literary Journal, West Texas Review, Into the Void, Light, Voices of Eve, The Write Place at the Write Time, and other journals. O’Melveny is a retired labor rights lawyer who lives with her wife in Washington, DC and Woodstock, NY.

SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.

If you enjoyed today’s poem and you value What Rough Beast, consider making a donation to Indolent Books, a nonprofit poetry press.