Old Woman, you stand with your feet at the water’s edge,

Your old skin gnarled and rough,

With heavy thighs marked by signs that people left.

What was their need that they left their names

And jagged hearts for me to see?

It must have been hard for you

Feeling the sharp point of the knife

Making cuts on your skin.

But in your most holy sacred place

You embraced their gifts and made them a part of you.

Old Tattooed Woman, your bark

Holds memories of those who were here before me

Their names marking your skin.

See?  Your arms are wide and strong

Offering shade for those held in your embrace.

I wish to be like you and take in what hurts

And weather the pain by toughening up

Like you, I will be made strong by life’s pointed edges,

Made wiser by honoring what is,

And made holy by embracing what comes.