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.