Tattoo

It had been three years

Since I’d crossed your threshold

But somehow walking in,

It still felt like home.

We sat on your living room floor

Passing the sketchpad back and forth

Perfecting the design

With your hand and mine.

Then we moved to the kitchen

Chatting as you set up your tools;

I put my ankle in position

And you etched into my skin.

To make it through the pain

I squeezed the hands

Of your lovely sister

Who might as well be mine.

I thought how fitting it was

At your kitchen table

Creating something beautiful, permanent

Holding on for strength.

I look down at it smiling

As I sit in my apartment

On the other side of the globe

The beautiful marks you left.