I lay on his chest tracing his tattoo still in its incomplete state it’s been almost seven maybe eight months since we left some days I sit on the porch light a smoke and just stair at the Rockies their shadow comforts me all though I’m so far away they are seemingly a younger version of my mother they look so similar that I imagine that at some point this is what Appalachia could have looked like the similarity’s help me to feel cradled in her dirt again yet the differences scare me I remember my momma telling me “why would you leave your mother” with a fervency in her voice when I told her I might leave over thanksgiving break she wasn’t talking about herself but the trees, the dirt, and the home of my ancestors some days I wonder if she was right it’s always so loud here yet missing the sounds I’ve come to know so well no coal trains race past my window in the dead of night and the rain is so scarce now but on the nights when I lay in bed tracing his tattoo I know I’ve made the right choice not only for myself but for us. in this new world exists a sea of opportunity, I’ve made more money than I’ve ever seen and while I often find it too loud I love to see the array of people in a city where expression feels less scary then it once was
I’ve been working on this piece since we got here it’s still several hours away from being done none the less it’s act of devotion and gratitude to my lover and soon to be husband a show of how I admire and appreciate him, our white trash dispositions, and unfinished tattoos. May our body’s, clothes, and souls be perpetual canvas for not only our love of each other but also creation
