January 2020
Rose Mary Boehm
rosmarie.epaminondas@gmail.com
Bio Note:  I am a German-born English national, and now also a Peruvian—we won't go into that. Just had one of my formal poems, a sonnet (the kind I do very rarely), nominated for a Pushcart, and I am chuffed (very English for 'blown away' or something like that). I have published two novels and one full-length poetry collection in the UK, two chapbooks in the US, and another full-length MS has been accepted for publication in the UK by Blue Nib.

Today I was touched

by warm hands that massaged my right hip.
Bursitis and tendonitis. (Itis. The spellchecker makes it
‘it is’. And it is indeed the most awful of pains.)
Was touched by a warm compress, and a gentle machine
rotating over cold gel, attacking the inflammation;
by the pedicurist who touched every toe. She massaged
my feet and my legs, rubbed my hands gently
with incense and myrrh.

I was touched by my husband missing me,
by photos for grandma of granddaughters
whose parents are beginning to touch
their fifties. By the display of love by a small dog
who lives on my floor.

My friend Bernard died. I learned it from the Internet.
©2020 Rose Mary Boehm
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