The Tattooed Poet's Series, Day 28 (part 2): Meredith Sugarman

As I explained over on Tattoosday, we had a surplus of poems from tattooed poets, so I've doubled up and made it a "Two-for -Tattoosday". Today's second poem is from Meredith Sugarman:

Edelweiss (to my mother)

You sit in grandmother's

Oak rocking chair:

Crumpled hands resting in

well worn wooden grooves-

The sway of your light blue,

Sweat stained nightgown

Lapping at the sagging skin

Covering your calves.

The room, a cave of linoleum and

Damp musky air is dim,

The only light that gently radiates

Is from a collection of dirty worn potholders

That I thumb between

my long fingers and rough palms.

I breathe the thick air,

Taste the sickness sour on my tongue

And look back at the waves gently

Lapping against your bones.

You turn, smile slightly sweetly,

A look that signals a burst of lucidity-

I whimper a shouting whisper:

"I love you, but I cannot be your friend."

You nod, register and the air grows thick again.

I cup your sharp jawbone,

Clench a hand that once swaddled me,

Whisper into an ear once tuned to my cries:

"I forgive you"

The cave has become stagnant-

The air unbearable as

I stand behind you like

A guardian of all things unsaid:

Your mouth parts, I reach down and

Suddenly your mouth is gaping wider and wider:

Jaw unhinging and your skull opening

Like the cherished music boxes

you bought me as a child;

The stench of rotten meat fills the thick air:

I am awake.

Meredith Sugarman was raised in a small town in north Louisiana. It wasn't until she moved to New Orleans when she was 18 that she found a city to call home. After her mother disappeared due to a drug addiction, Meredith moved to New York four years ago in search of a new home. She now resides in Brooklyn with her pug, Piggy.

See a tattoo inspired by her mother over on Tattoosday here.

Thanks to Meredith for contributing to this project!