RELATIONSHIP Poem: meditation // volcano, by Louisa Ballhaus

you have a brief affair with permanence
and tattoo your ribs 5 months in.

I think about the scars on your leg,
how you’re used to things fading.

I tell myself the memory is stitched in
with the ink
and stay within your eyeline so,

2 years from now, if a girl has placed
3 fingers on your ribs, you might remember

my warning. You exhale smoothly,
as instructed. In the morning, have me touch

the fresh, raised lines:
is this normal? will it stay?

This one
will hurt like realization

but you roll out of bed
and picture permanence as mountaintops

as birthmarks and not scars
as space instead of time

remembering how I misspoke
how I find everything

harder to wash out.