Tattoos Poem by Raynette Eitel

Tattoos

It is memories that tattoo tender skin,
pain that holds and pierces, ink etching
indelible pictures refusing to fade with time.

And the crowds admire clear images:
hearts torn; twisted flowers entwined
about innocent crosses; new butterflies
hovering over chaste fleur-de-lis;
snakes coiled, threatening to strike;
scorpions like small crabs in wait to use
the fierce sting; enormous, demonic dragons
dredging flames; finally, the empty skull.

Perhaps you do not see tattoos I wear,
the puckering, wounded flesh, an ache
remaining there for life, pictures hidden
beneath my smile, under sweet songs I sing
and forced, cracked laughter.