Tattoo

Savannah Cooper

I want my life to be a poem, I said 

when I was 16, not knowing 

what I meant, thinking I would die 

before 25 because how could I grow

old? How could I live long enough 

to know anything? So tired already 

and so exhausted by every day 

and every sideways glance, 

I thought 23 is enough. And here 

I am approaching 32, and I want 

my life to be a poem, every moment 

invested with meaning, whispering 

of greater depths. Or I want my life 

to be a tattoo, sketched in detail, 

pored over, dreamed of, something 

I can trace with a finger on my arm 

when feeling empty. An image 

in black on the skin that makes me 

look a little more like the person 

I hold inside. I want my life to be 

a blossoming tree in the spring, buds 

giving way to flowers, petals scattering 

in the wind, landing on the grass, 

the dirt, the dog shit, the garbage can, 

touching everything, a little bit of color, 

a little bit of life.