Three weeks ago, I met a daughter, just out of rehab, tattoos on her face.
You don’t get tattoos on your face so young and so beautiful unless. You don’t get those without knowing what it means to be taken from all knowing and collapsed into container for taking the pain as it comes from the strangers who come from a place from which memory has long been erased and every effort made to replace its former volume with desperate force. It doesn’t take so much imagination to understand what happens to girls in desperate places.
She was gentle and frightened and I sat with her in solemn awe, I see you, daughter, and now––here. I could offer only space and calm (no, I didn’t have the wifi code, none of us did) and said what I could about the possibility of story, to take the stuff of before and bring it before the fire of pen on page, fingertips on keyboard, voice taking stage before the formerly silent self, to sing brokenness back into being. “I like this,” she said, “I need more of this.”
It was days between losing and marking the loss to a system of regulations in the name of keeping safe and I nodded my acceptance when they told me as I imagine she may have, eventually, after they took her away––even through boiling rage against another senseless day in the wake of so long breaking–––meaning to maintain devotion to the hope for an ordering hand, coming where waiting feels like a looping prayer, Say the Word.
May she find that word, or it find her.

Thank you. Thank.you.
Thank you, Ryn.
I am rendered low to the blasting furnace. These words, like shrapnel, tore through my heart. Deftly written! I wonder if her story is not so different than yours, Stacey. “The fire of pen on page,” hints at a device for deliverance. Baptized in the fire.
😥
The reality tears me. Your solidarity is felt and appreciated, friend. Onward in loving hope.
I’d like to read this in the form of an essay (or if fiction, a short story). It resonates with me but it’s too cryptic for me to fully grasp. I learned at my last organization, a domestic violence nonprofit, that very young women with tattoos on their faces have often been trafficked.
Thank you, Jeff.
Stacey: Without your interesting composition, folks may not be so drawn. I appreciate the depth from which you write. Thank you for sharing your heart❤️.
Carolyn, this generous note warms my heart. Sending you a big hug : )