Culling

This poem is two years old.

Removed

A woman friend of mine
is sleeping in Boston
dreaming of how to remove
me from her.
She's reworking her concept;
Her tattoo
stretches from her
right shoulder to her
left breast,
covers formerly blank
skin with
tiny branches, shaded bark,
a trunk identical
to the one
supporting the full form
of my tattoo.
Stripped winter bare,
tendril branches
crawl up from
my right breast,
grip
my shoulder.
I scratch,
feel her tissue
raised thin puckered
colored in.