Wilda Morris


       With the first stanza borrowed from Samuel Hazo

                                            Some say
it’s ink on meat.

                                            My husband 
calls it barbarian
though he does cut
his hair and nails.

who was taught even
nail polish would mark her
as a prostitute, would never
let a tattoo artist near.

                                            And me?
The pain scares me away
but there’s a Celtic cross
on one daughter’s neck, a rose
on another’s ankle.

                                           Our grandson’s body
is a bulletin board, one arm
a memorial to his sister, deceased
when he was small; the other
proclaiming faith with cross
and favorite scripture verse.

                                          And Mother,
with her nails now red,
looks at that body art,
and laughs from some place
in her aging but open heart.

Wilda Morris has served as president of the Illinois State Poetry Society and Poets & Patrons of Chicago. She has won numerous awards for her poetry and is widely published. Her latest book is Pequod Poems: Gamming with Moby-Dick. Her poetry blog at wildamorris.blogspot.com features a monthly poetry contest.


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