I don’t remember how late in August it was when the sun fell faster and the lifeguards shrunk from three to one; neither the name of the boy I kissed, not even one of the numbers on that woman’s skin. I remember chlorine and currants, an errant storm— the tattoo itself—dusk-colored, scrawled— where numbers shouldn’t have been. I remember holding currants severed from their twig, and streaks of sour saliva cleansed. From where?—I only knew of the camps and she wouldn’t speak of it. She couldn’t hide proof in this heat. The boy and I stayed late, hiding under the stars—Lyra, Deneb, Altair? I can’t recall. That summer I floated in water and she over fire. I don’t know where she came from or where she went, but I won’t forget how she gathered her towel: sweeping her forearm, pressing numbers into her heart.
Ellen Rachlin is the author of five collections of poetry. At the Big Bang Resort is forthcoming from Red Hen Press (Spring 2027). Her most recent book, Permeable Divide, received the 2018 IBPA Benjamin Franklin Silver Award. Her novel, Enheduanna’s Song From the Sands, is forthcoming from Histria Books.