Sunday Poem: Tattoo

Resting on your skin,

Mellowed, burnished and glossy

Crafted in fainted blue, 

A tattoo in Spanish Mariana Mario.

 

Weary eyes and doleful gaze, 

A trace of a smile on those slender lips.

Pulling me on,

You said, “Let’s not pass. 

Moments like this come not often.”

 

With my fingers, I caressed that tattoo,

Below the collar bone 

Above your left breast

“Is this your name?” I wondered. 

“No,” your feeble reply. 

“My daughter’s. 

Today, she is two-year-old.

Lives with my mother in a distant land,

On the north coast of South America.

I miss her.”