POEM: Tattoo

The tattoo ink was very old.

The sleeve of words tumbled

Down her arm like ivy:

“Face the pith of everything.

To the flower that is a breath.

To the toughness in standing up.

With nothing to defend.

Palms open. No Fists. Always.”

She is afraid of her future.

She is afraid of the future of everyone.

She is afraid of what will happen

To her children.

I see heroic things in you.

and that will simply have to do.