Touch

 Caring for the elderly...
It's my job...
It's also
My only physical interaction
With other human beings,
At the moment...
Occasional changing of diapers...
Maybe a hand to shoulder,
Or a pat on the head...
Giving them a hand to hold...
Speaking in tongues
Like Baptists
In the full on throes
Of righteousness
Because that is the only language they speak...
Mostly just 
Nonsense babbling...
If it weren't for this job,
I would be so much worse off
During this divorce...
I don't find it easy
Socially reconnecting...
Having a job
That serves a 
Socially archetypal purpose
Keeps me sane...
Feeding another person
Is an intimate experience...
Deciphering their ramblings
To uncover who they were
Before dementia set in...
Trying to isolate
What parts of their behavior
Are evidence of what's left
Of their actual personality...
These are very intimate things...
They fill some human need...
Interaction and grooming...
Like monkeys
Picking ticks
Off of another's back...
Wolves regurgitating food
For elders who can no longer 
Effectively hunt or chew...
We take care of each other...
We're supposed to...
It's how we are wired,
Ideally...
And they can relate
To isolation,
Wordlessly,
Better than almost anyone else...
Sometimes
They just need a hand to hold...
And that's okay...
Sometimes
I need a hand to hold, too...