The ink leaks, pools at the head of the nib.
Chipped, yellow nail polish guides me, leading the way across
The page–jagged towers of neon yellow racing ahead.
“Don’t claw the pen,” my mother chided, “You’re no crab.”
Fingers cramp, but I still have so much to say.
My tattoo catches my eye–I so rarely see her when I write.
I see through her as I scrawl,
Meticulous lines indelibly marked on my skin. But now it’s
Chipped, yellow nail polish, trailing my path as my bicep cramps.
The ink leaks, pools at the head of the nib…