Rhodora Jacob
Holding Hands
Inspiration piece

Indian Burning
By Beck Sebenius
Response

Fingers of light in a dark wrist maze

After squeezed pink skin is set all ablaze,

From the twisting thumbs, and the Indian burning,

To the open sore sights, and the dark to light turning

And then it is seen – or the opposite, really

Just sitting there staring,

and staring,

and staring,

It opens itself – and there’s others, too

and the stars and the rest all turn anew

The colors! The light! The brilliant golds,

They tell stories of stories, of times of old,

Yet all without contact – not a single touch,

The isolation – the cold! – it’s all too much.

In the end it’s the ripping – the scratching! – I prefer,

because with it comes warmth and intimacy.

For, all that out there – the truths you see and hear,

they’re worth nothing at all when there’s nothing to fear.