Tattoo (POEM).

Tattoo

It was a sharp and deep pain,

in a taut little room, that needled

with art, and dark, and a tattoo artist from New Zealand.

His girlfriend sat, tank topped and sour-faced,

A dreadful onlooker.

He buzzed a needle around my breast-plate,

And spoke of shading.

He had learned from the Maori.

They shade backwards.

The empty space within

is the important part.

Eighteen years old,

What a time for the warrior

to protect her heart.

I don’t know how I knew it then,

to make the armor first,

with endurance, breath, and ink.

Now, looking back, it’s not regret, but pain.

I’m onto new initiations,

The un-chiseling.

And the process is the same,

endurance, breath, and ink.

Author’s Note: This is the first of a 10 day writing challenge I’m offering myself. If you want to join in the writing adventure: https://www.elephantjournal.com/now/10-poems-10-days-ready/

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