the sharp cut of the ink
temporarily tattoos
the A into my palm

“A”
for awake,
not lying in a cocoon
of blankets and pillows
but up and about
throughout the day;
awake

“A”
for alive,
with a readable pulse
and a flush
to the cheeks—
able to move, to speak;
alive

the thin drawn line
of the tip to skin
form the capital letter A
traced into the usual
clean canvas
of my inner hand,

laced with meaning,
singed with regret
flaming in the ashes
of how I remember things to be

awake, alive,
asleep, abandoned,

dead