by Ray Sharp
Last night I was burned twice,
once by one who cares too little
and once by one who cares too much.
Some nights I would light matches to stay warm,
if only someone would cup two hands
around mine to block the wind.
But I am dry tinder, and fire can consume
like the Ganges crematorium at Varanasi.
Did you know that when the monk
Thích Quảng Đức set himself on fire in Saigon
to protest the persecution of Buddhists,
he was re-cremated after his death
but his heart, twice burned, remained intact?
Ray Sharp lives and writes in Michigan’s rural, rugged and remote Western Upper Peninsula region. His recent poems have appeared at vox poetica, Eclectic Flash, Caper Literary Journal, Ink Node, Astropoetica, and in the Spark 7 collection at getsparked.org, as well as at his blog, raysharp.wordpress.com.