a waitress’s tattoos.

our waitress has

death dates tattooed

across her teeny tiny

 pale wrists

 

bracelets encircling, encircling, encircling, encircling

with memories

 

I see them as she tosses menus, asking us our orders,

there is a name, a name I cannot see, hidden in the shadow of her hand

the shadow of the mountain upon the valley

 

but she has death dates, dates tattooed across her veins

hands I don’t want touching my food, poisoning it with thoughts of

cemeteries and lilies laid on bodies.

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