Lynette Lamp Draped in paper, you jump like a startled squirrel when I enter the exam room.You always do. I didn’t askabout the tattoos,even though I probedwith questions about everything else. You told me, once you trusted me to know.Spider-man on your left armto give you strength after your father’s suicide.An awkward iris on your backplanted over your ex’s name.On your right thigh, an angel with the date your sister died. The kid in the El Camino was at fault,but no one sued, only grieved. Still grieving. You say each break in your skin helped heal some other broken part.But there’s no place for that ink in your chart. Lynette … Continue reading →