The Tip of Your Finger

Pippin and I camping near Mount Olympus, Washington (2024)

Last night I had a bad dream,

We gathered at a party

There were guests dressed up—

Merry. 

They were going around,

Cutting off digits and limbs. 

Look how fashionable we are!

Metal and shiny—

Tink tink!

They clinked their glasses,

With bloodied hands,

Laughing—

Glitter on their knuckles.

In disbelief and disgust,

I cried out—

This is not for me!

But I was ushered,

Assured,

I only needed 

To pay a small price. 

For all they needed,

Was to cut off a tiny bit—

A sliver of a finger tip. 

To implant a light,

A tracker—

So small. 

This is for you 

And me too—

Never lost—

Always found. 

And look,

It can shine bright,

All through the night! 

I stood there—

Uncertain in queue. 

And in a sweat I woke up,

Distressed, alarmed,

Needing a lean-to. 

I sat with it all day

As I lay out under the blue. 

And realized— 

I never wanted to cut off,

Something so intimate,

So true. 

It wasn’t just

The blessing of 

Being untraced 

Unnoticed,

‘Lost’.

But to cut off the very sense—

Of feeling? 

This is the finger 

That traced my lover’s face.

Felt bark’s pulse,

Petal’s velvet,

The hidden heartbeat—

Of this majestic earth! 

I will not cut away my touch.

I will not trade my skin for their shine.

Not for acceptance—

Nor compliance—

Nor a safety promise—

Wrapped in wires, 

Wearing a mask, 

Of light— 

Why… what a clever disguise!