It doesn’t matter
He takes my hand in his
Fingers intertwined
He gives a gentle squeeze
I love the feeling of the warmth
my palm pressed next to his
and I wish
he could have held my young hand
the one that was flawless
Soft – full of promise
Rather than hands aged by work
veins bubbled next to thin skin
knuckles slightly swollen
dry enough to see the patterns of wrinkles and textures of skin
You should have had my young hand
Soft and creamy and smooth
And then gently you lift my hand to your lips
A kiss on my life wearied hands
And I realize it doesn’t matter.
Tattoos we try to erase
Tattoos we try to erase
The ones below the skin
Imprinted by people and experiences
Invisible yet branded just the same
Invisible ink that surfaces as emotions
when the tattoo is warmed by life
Exposed to raw air
Exposed to be worked with one more time
Healed
and erased
Redundant
We sit and stare at each other
I am the liberated female
which gives me the right
to cook dinner
to clean the house
to mow the yard
to raise the children
to paint the basement
to plant the flowers
to wash the dishes
to work and earn a living
to fix the broken things
His eyes are sad
Now, he is simply redundant