'Poem' for the week -- "Tattoo":
You do know, right,
that between the no-
longer & the still-
to-come
you are being continually
tattooed, inked
with the skulls of
everyone
you’ve ever loved—the you
& the you
& the you & the you—you don’t
sit in a chair, thumb
through a binder, pick a
design, it simply
happens each time you
bring your fingers to your face
to inhale him back into you . . .
tiny skulls, some of us are
covered. You, love, could
simply tattoo an open
door, light
pouring in from somewhere
outside, you
could make your body a door
so it appears you
(let her fill you) are made
of light.
-- Nick Flynn
