Seventy-Two Inches
by Judith Cullen
© 2021
Smiling is useless,
a flex beneath
filtering layers
expressing nothing.
Trying the eyes
results in odd
bulging twitches
like transitory gas.
One hundred and
eighty two centimetres,
seventy two inches
of cavernous void.
Our beings long for
rituals of comfort in
a frightening world,
stretching out.
New effort replaces
old attempting;
must work at it,
have to mean it.
A compliment,
a serendipitous flower;
the reaching that
bridges the gap.
Learning to extend
the soul beyond
a sway of breath.
Words count:
Please, Thank you,
Lovely smile.
Silence a missed
opportunity.
What will we
retain in after-times;
when protective
layers peel away
and distances dwindle?
There should be
greater endurance,
expanded soul range,
from reaching,
from continual effort.
Seventy two inches
should make us
stronger in kindness,
diligent at connection.
Will these newly flexed
muscles remember?
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“Social Distancing Cookies Angular” by Tinus Badenhurst CC0 Public Domain image from https://www.publicdomainpictures.net/
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