The Tattoo Poems
by Doug Knowlton
Miami Baptist E.R., 1.1.05
. . . we have no solace but utterance, hence this wild cry.
- D. Walcott, The Bounty
We spend hours by the bed
smoothing her hair
touching her forehead, her
cheeks and hands. The tube distorts
her mouth, her eyes are
taped shut to keep them moist.
We extend her fingers, caress
her tape and needle encrusted arms,
watch monitors, rub
her feet, notice her nail polish, talk
to her, cry
to her, sob in her ear
I love you, sweetie . . . even though
we know the awful truth.
All the while awed
by the hidden tattoo.
___________________________
from Native Hue: Anything Else Ever, 2005.
LoveLife
In the evening, we visit Lasting Image
Tattoo Parlor on Pine and Orange.
Patrick's plaque reveals he is
a graduate of the Houston School of Art.
He says he was employed until recently
as an animation artist
for children’s movies. He makes
a tracing from the E.R. photos
because the originals are lost, and then
sets up his sterile field like a surgeon. After
finishing mine, he surprises me
with a hug, remembering
the visit in August; his last
with Allison.
____________________________
from Native Hue: Anything Else Ever, 2005.
Tattoo: One of Seven Workshop Poems
She promised her mother
not to get another one, and me, I've
never been enthusiastic about wearing
skinart. The full color dragon
that stretched from coccyx to C7
evoked breathless silence as pathologist
and assistant roll her body
over on the stainless steel
autopsy table. It's been a year
and the ink still burns her script
into my left forearm.
_______________________________________
from Native Hue: Acorns from Hell, 2006/2010.
Today's The Day
Before
Steve calls last night after arrival
from Hawaii, Uncle Sam gives him a weekend
in Florida. We're off to collect
the world traveler
in Tampa, take that bastard Interstate-4
to the Garden City. Later in the evening, Boo
will step up and receive
her sister's diploma during graduation
at the school named for an orange. They say
the first recipient of the memorial scholarship
will be announced after the slide show.
I hate this shit.
After
How it really was: bumper to bumper
for three hours. Classmates cheer
her memory, a crowd of her beautiful friends
embrace us. Victor speaks of the smile, the energy
the enthusiasm. The sister declines, so
the father takes the long walk (what did I do
to deserve a standing ovation?). Sometimes
your children humble you with their love. Angela
leads us to the Olympia for some of the best food
on the planet, the dancers stand tradition
on its head, we raise a toast
to the LoveLife Girl. Finally found Patrick
in a parlor on Colonial, aunt and uncle become
the newest members of the order
of the hidden tattoo. Back home
in the country by 3 a.m.
What's to hate?
_______________________________________
from Native Hue: Acorns from Hell, 2006/2010.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Native Hue, poems 2005-2010
THE LINK TO THE BOOK:
http://www.box.net/shared/q2v1p90us0
note: the box.net reader is atrocious. feel free to download and read from your own computer.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
the Google cache of the Flagpole piece
http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache%3Ahttp%3A%2F%2Fflagpole.com%2FWeekly%2FPubNotes%2FLoveLife.19Jan05
Sadly both the Flagpole and Google cache are down and unretrievable. Will post my own copy soon.
Sadly both the Flagpole and Google cache are down and unretrievable. Will post my own copy soon.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Opening it up
So -- I hadn't really done anything with this page and thought I might open it up and see how it goes. Get back into the blogging. At least for Allison . . . might be worth a go.
Let me know what you think . . . if you're out there.
Let me know what you think . . . if you're out there.
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