The Language of Touch
Our fingers whisper—
trace thin skin,
sympathetic nerves,
compassionate nails—
a graceful discussion
of analog thoughts.
We’re watching something
that I’m ignoring.
Sitting by your side,
not gazing into your eyes.
I’d rather eavesdrop
on our hands.
I don’t want to interrupt
their conversation
with this banal language
of sound and sight.
Our fingers,
more articulate,
say it all.
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
Bart! You had me at whispering fingers…beautiful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. A poem’s got to start strong.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow. I loved “whispering fingers” and “I’d rather eavesdrop on our hands.” Strong finish. Great job.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. A poem’s got to end strong.
LikeLike
this is really touching and ethereal thanks for sharing :)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Touching: Nice pun. Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person