The Sunflower Tattoo

The Sunflower Tattoo

The woman on the bus

With sunflower tattoos -

Bright, yellow -
The yellow of an egg's moist yolk -
Struck me from where I sat.

At least, they seemed like sunflowers

Three on her left arm, one on the other.

My stop was next - 

I would never have another chance.

And so - 
I made my way towards her, 
“Do you mind if I ask you why 

You choose those particular tattoos?”

Always a delicate moment.

She smiled.

“I always want my pets with me.”

I looked closer as she held out her arm.

Where the centers of the flowers usually were,

Where the seeds gather in their swirls,

Were portraits of her

Pets.

True portraits, in detail, 

Their names circling above them.

She pointed to the lone portrait of a dog

High on her right arm

Surrounded by the halo of golden petals.

“He died,”   she said.  “I couldn’t bear it. 

It was my first tattoo.”

The sunflower leaves swirled down

To things the dog must have loved -

Doggie - Bone shaped biscuits, for instance.

On her left arm surrounded by
Their own halos of petals
Were two dogs, a cat between them

And down below, on a stem, a frog

And further, on a large green leaf, 
A tiny, red lady bug.
They must have loved the country,

Choosing sunflowers; 

Somewhat of a heaven for the animals she loves;

Their portraits in the center of their own golden suns.