Katie sent us this photo of her tattoo:
Katie explains:
I got my tattoo in 1992 when I was 25. I had been considering a tattoo for awhile and decided on a Claddagh to honor my Irish roots. My grandparents were immigrants and I look the part. I've always felt very connected to Ireland and whether it's nature or nurture, I seem to embody a lot of the well-known characteristics. For the design, I used a ring I had been wearing for years. I consider it good luck because no matter how hard I try, I never seem to be able to lose it. I took it to Designs By Dana in Cincinnati, Ohio and one of the artists copied it onto my left arm.For a poem, Katie offered us this:
The Thing ItselfKatie Ford Hall is 43 years old and lives on the edge of civilization just outside of Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband and two children. Her poetry has appeared in several online and print journals including Chantarelle's Notebook, Ancient Heart Magazine, Women Writing for (a) Change anthologies and For A Better World 2005: Poems and Drawings on Peace and Justice by Greater Cincinnati Artists. She contributed a story to When One Door Closes: Reflections from Women on Life's Turning Points and has written feature stories for CityBeat Magazine and Cincinnati Woman Magazine. These days, she can be found blogging all over the place, but mostly on Uneasy Pink, her blog about breast cancer-related issues.
There’s a shadow
outside my kitchen window –
falling on Japanese maple;
sweeping over swing set.
A corner of the
eye distraction from
the scraping of a
crusty pan
then again a flicker
as I turn around to say
‘chicken’s ready’
there was a me
who became a secret –
when the time came for
a me
to set an example –
the secret dances across grass
on the cool dew of
thick summer nights
reckless and unbounded,
compelling and unglued.
oblivious to
consequences,
blind to
ramifications
Dancing
born of a
shame and hunger
denied by laughter
denied by wet heavy air
and denied again --
three times
before dawn
Sacrificed at
the altar of the
inevitable
And laid to rest
in the tomb of
the proper
A life that can’t be
sustained must be
set free,
traded for
half acre lots
stainless steel
appliances
and the dream of a
freer next
generation
But there’s
still that shadow.
I suspect
it’s me
and I suspect that
shadows
resurrected
fall just beyond an
infinity of
suburban
kitchen windows.
Never mentioned
barely noticed
banished to
the edges of
anxious eyes~ ~ ~
Many thanks to Katie for sharing her poem and her tattoo with us here on Tattoosday!
This entry is ©2011 Tattoosday. The poem is reprinted here with the permission of the author.
If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.
If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.