The Tattoo

One of many pieces of writing dedicated to my late sister.

"Marks on your skin.
Not in hate or fear or anger
but permanent.
Without a knife, but a needle.
No words
Numbers and symbols.
A simple piece.
Never a second glance,
rarely a question asked.
Then someone says those words
"Oh, what does that mean?"
A constant showing of pain.
A reminder of what is lost.
A piece as to never forget
what once was.
Permanence, like mourning.
"My sister, a memorial."
They always become silent.
A polite nod, a quick exit.
It is not a happy story to tell.
But one you will tell a million times over
never forgetting.
Constantly show.
Proof that she was ever there at all."