For Maggie Gyllenhaal Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

No touch is predestined
But if you have none to make you cry
You have none to make you smile:
Sometimes reaching out is everything.

You stand with your pants down
Splayed against a wall
In a prison cell
Waiting for a cavity search.

A spotty-faced virgin boy
Is offered your open blouse
And the fondling of your breasts,
There is a condom between your teeth.

Your friend is facing death
As the guard wreaks his revenge
And you say: 'I am here
I am on the floor as you wanted'.

I am in awe of your art
Of the way you manifest
The imminence of touch
And its foreboding.

I am drawn by that rawness,
To feeling for you with words,
Trying to touch your heart:
Don't pull back, don't flinch.