Tattooed Girl

Tattooed Girl

She had wings,
big and black,
tattooed on her back.

They reached up
above her flimsy top,
as if she might take off any second.

They looked strong, powerful;
I envied her conviction,
her dedication.

Did it hurt much?
Did she feel the blood bead on her young skin,
with every touch, every prick of the needle?

A modern Cleopatra clad in black
with dark, dark eyes, she interwines
her silver-laden fingers with another, I presume her lover.

I never saw her leave but could have sworn
I felt cold on the back of my neck,
a shiver and then nothing.

 

*published in The Stony Thursday