In my skin
there’s a butterfly
dancing to the beat of my sweat.
It’s dedicated to
the memory of my lost child.
At the moment I keep my weight constant to
keep her memory alive.
But if another child should arrive
and make my skin stretch
maybe it will be time to let go
so the tattoo can mark my
journey back from grief.
Maybe then I’ll have a new tattoo to
celebrate the child I
am finally able to have
perhaps another butterfly.
Am I lost,
to mark out my grief deep into my skin?
To feel the tattooist working the picture into my skin
that is nothing compared to grief.
The pain of losing my
child’s heart beating
inside of me
is too much to bear so
I had to bury it in
the butterfly tattoo that
perches on my back.
(c) June Perkins
This poem is written as a character, and not me personally. I am thinking her name will be Miranda.
I wonder if she will name her lost child. I walk through this character’s grief and recovery and will have her speak to people she knows about how she is feeling, or not, or maybe go find her favourite camping spot.
I will concentrate on her journey to see where it takes me. I feel like writing poetry as fictional characters for a while.