Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Sunspots on the back of the left hand, as had by the mothers I grew up around, who chopped without cutting boards, peeling cucumbers and slicing them against their thumbs, letting the pieces drop into a bowl.
(And later, so many years later, an elder remarking that I sliced the carrots into my salad the way women from "the old country" chopped veggies.)
Tattoo. Ask Baba to write down the word, and size it, and send it, and don't tell him why. Sit with with a 22 year old witch who doesn't seem to know her power yet as she dips a needle into India Ink and pierces your skin gently and repeatedly until the intention won't ever let you forget it again.