Hugs

By Justine C. Tajonera

I learned the art
from my father:
fat bear hugs
in the morning.

Playful tickles in
the rib
and a quick
hug before attending
to cities of
blocks and story
books.

Safe hugs after
learning how
to swim.

Tentative hugs
after a scolding.

Is it my way of
testing affecgtion,
listening to his heart,
staying hidden
from all the hurt
in the world?

I hug my father goodbye,
taking his aftershave
and cologne with
me as I hug
my son
at bedtime.

(Jan. 4, 2010)

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/gustty/1345811649/