Ink

18
Heavily researched with Kuhrt.
Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Mine--the left eye of Ra, the moon,
crying a tear of faith, hope, and love.
His--mysterious Kuhrt language they say now.
Nobody knows what it means.
But I remember.

20
With Heather, horrified, in
a Denver studio.
Seeking balance.
Yin/Yang hand, to remind me.

22
Leaving college. Leaving childhood.
Leaving a version of me behind (but
taking my nickname with me).
With Jeni Rae (sunburst on her foot)
and Jay (navel piercing)

24
Daisies. With Paul.
Olympia.
First Christmas.
Our wedding flower.

28
Getting braver in my new midwest life.
Capturing my Polish heritage--colorful,
bold, but still only where I can see it
most of the time.

34
Visible. Vibrant. Daisy and
ladybug, four spots for Jane’s four years.
So beautiful.

36
I finished my dissertation.
I deserve more daisies
creeping down my arm.

37
I have a daisy on my toe,
It is not real, it does not grow.
It’s just a tattoo of a flower
So I’ll look neat, taking a shower.
It’s on the second toe of my left foot.
A stem and flower, but there’s no root.
Because… it wouldn’t look good!
A pretty daisy on my toe
My right foot loves my left foot so! --The Smothers Brothers
And this makes six daisies, and
the start of the official Morgan family tattoo.

38
With Amy, who arrives in Boulder
wanting a vine and flowers around her ankle.
The simple excuse I needed
for words, about love, what my father taught me
about living a life.
Live, act, speak through love.
Marked on me.
Forever.

39
The words sprout a tree.
A love tree.
Jane’s initials.
A peace sign for Paul.
Nine, red, heart-shaped flowers
for Jane’s nine years.

40
A farm now rests beneath the tree.
The barn, circa pre-1974 tornado.
The place where my mother learned love, care, empathy,
and cookies.
My grandfather’s 1982 red Dodge Ram,
drives to the farmhouse,
taking him home.

40
Matryoshka. Polish.
Zerwin was Zwierzynski.
Jane,
me,
Verna Su,
Sarah Jane and Eleanor,
Elizabeth, Pearl, Tecla, and Francis
The string of mothers before me.

41
My father’s childhood home
that defined family for him. Laughter, love--
these things he taught many of my favorite people
over 10-day summer adventures
with fishing stories, and slow laps in the row boat,
and rocks across Lost Lake,
and solitaire and poker, great food and conversation,
in cabin 25.

Columbine, fireweed, Indian paintbrush,
the wildflowers that carpet the aspen forest
surrounding Mesa Lake.

“So it goes,” says Vonnegut. And it does.