HIS TATTOO / ALYSSA YANKWITT

The only permanent thing in my life,
he said.

Crawling across my lover’s left
shoulder blade, a scorpion lingers,
mysterious as the love lines in my palm,
waiting patiently, perhaps
for its mate.

Now, every time my fingers brush
across smooth, indelible pincers
clawing at his skin, a tail inked
with venom, I grow more envious
of their kinship, jealous
of their familiarity.

The only permanent thing in my life,
he said.

And I can’t help wondering
about the inevitable sting, or

if such permanence is replaceable.

 

 

 

 

Alyssa Yankwitt is a poet, teacher, bartender, and earth walker. Most recently, her poems have appeared in Up the Staircase Quarterly, IthacaLit, Stone Highway Review, Pismire Poetry, and are forthcoming in Milk Sugar. Alyssa has incurable wanderlust, enjoys drinking whiskey, hates writing about herself in third person, and loves a good disaster. 

 

 

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