Cueva de las Manos

by John Kruschke

Shadowy menageries of rabbits,

birds and bees, of urges and bad habits,

slither across the chained spelunker's wall,

lit from behind by FX digital:

a sorcerer's hands, contorted fingers,

cast illusions while cave eyes malinger.

A mouse on the wall tells time with two splayed

hands, white gloved, the big one spinning fast, made

to emphasize the passing of minutes

while the small hand smuggles to begin its

inobtrusive countdown of the hours

prankster Mickey laughingly devours.

To fend off wasted time, envies, regrets,

another wall clock's arms have amulets:

two hamsa hands that protect or provide,

one hamsa blessed, one never evil eyed.

Concentric gestures sweep the dial's face

but never will those hamsa hands embrace.

Outside the cave, two lovers orbit hand

in hand pointing to nothing but a sand

grain's weightless free fall in their hourglass,

to dandelions floating over grass,

contriving no manipulation of

shadows, protecting one provision: love.

To mark their union, they pack mineral

pigments to the sacred cave, where they will

splay their hand, one lover's-hand thickness off

the wall, while the lover blows powder soft,

paints a canvas with reverse silhouette

that twenty thousand years will not forget,

so now we may hold our own hands with care

one lover's-hand thickness away from theirs.

BIO: John K. Kruschke has poems published or accepted in Blue Unicorn, The Tipton Poetry Journal, The Lake, Flying Island Literary Journal, Pine Hills Review, Smoky Blue Literary & Arts Magazine, Spare Parts Literary Magazine, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Stickman Review, Discretionary Love, Grand Little Things, and Sage Magazine (x 4), along with 25 quatrains as chapter epigraphs. He has also published numerous articles in scientific journals on topics ranging across moral psychology, learning theory, and Bayesian statistics. He is Provost Professor Emeritus at Indiana University in Bloomington. johnkruschke.com/poems.html