The Girl Goes to the Tattoo Parlour
She collects words like bottle caps and postal stamps, slips them in between notes on global
warming and names of someday children in the Reminder section of her iPhone. If she were rich she'd
be an instruction manual, an open book of quotes in Time New Roman, Courier, and Handwritten.
“The most alive is the wildest,” across her chest.
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams,” on her right forearm, where she can see it
each time she reaches out.
Like Post-Its, only permanent, she would be reminded how to live each morning as she stood
bare before a mirror, reciting words written by men who got it right.