Kim -- We were twenty

In November we drove 81 to Roanoke
to a dusty little shop on the side of a busy road
a faded sign read "you must be 18"
we were twenty --
but we thought life had been lived
the sun had set, our time short
you held my hand anyway
through the pain of that tattoo my dad hated so much

It's funny now because
you know what happened --
miles were traveled
with gas tanks full
pictures were framed and hung on the wall
puzzles fretted over and finished
invitations mailed
phone calls returned
schedules made (then followed!)
empty minds became busy bodies
and I should have known we were in it
from the moment
ink was injected under the skin of my wrist
that it would last as long as my heart would beat
seep in and hug veins
until I was living as I always wanted to live
as a woman
instead of as that girl of twenty