Tattoo of a Child

Caridad loves tattoos.
For her, the body is both
machine and portable museum.
Daily, she admires the portraits needled into
her imperfect body,
each color chosen to her mood.

Swirls of red and ovals of black
cross her flesh
The Taino symbol for hurricane
on her right shoulder blade.
Hypnotizing onlookers.
The Taina fertility goddess Atabey
painted on her stomach,
smiling down on her uterus.
They remind her of who she is
when others misrepresent her.

The first tattoo is her favorite,
on her lower back
left of her spine.
There they stood,
2 flags of Mexico and Puerto Rico.
Wave in the stillest weather
of her brown flesh.

People ask Caridad
what her flags mean.
A man, cultural identity, stupidity?
Many wonder, no one guesses right.
Busy gossips never think of the child
she hid from conversations.

He would have been beautiful,
One year old.
With each passing year,
her tattoos became badges of
motherhood, loss, and memory.

She carried him every day
talking, teaching him the importance of uniqueness,
and the serenity of loneliness.

All the mothers laugh at her.
Calling her the colorful talking loca
as she continues to add more pictures
to her body for her child’s company.

Luivette Resto