In the Skin
Draped in paper, you jump
like a startled squirrel
when I enter the exam room.
You always do. I didn’t ask
about the tattoos,
even though I probed
with questions about
everything else. You told me,
once you trusted me to know.
Spider-man on your left arm
to give you strength
after your father’s suicide.
An awkward iris on your back
planted over your ex’s name.
On your right thigh,
an angel with the date
your sister died. The kid
in the El Camino was at fault,
but no one sued, only
grieved. Still grieving.
You say each break
in your skin helped heal
some other broken part.
But there’s no place
for that ink in your chart.
Published in The Online Journal of Community and Person-Centered Dermatology, December 31, 2022
Lynette Lamp 