Tricia Knoll

Unremarkable

 
I admire tattoos. On other people. Heron wingspread over bare shoulders. Chains that circle narrow ankles. A forget-me-not on a wrist bone. Hummingbird. Sunflower. First Nation Northwest Coast formline art sleeving an arm.

At Target a daughter asks when she can get a tattoo. Her mother says, “Pierce your ears first and wait two years.”

My skin remains marked only by the weight of time, gravity, sun, and injury. That leaves open possibilities of phantasmagoric designs I imagine as I wake each morning. Today: Hokusai’s Great Wave off Kanagawa low on my spine. 

Keat's grave
his name written in water
mirrored ripple

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About the Author

Tricia Knoll lives in Vermont with five acres of woods. Her kinship with urban wildlife includes tree hugging; tending butterfly, native plant, herb and vegetable gardens, and volunteer work as a Master Gardener. She has degrees in literature from Stanford University (BA) and Yale University (MAT). Her poetry and haiku appear in numerous journals and anthologies.

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