.

she has a horse sketch on her back, round-tipped asterisk on her bicep, lilies of the valley at the base of her neck. my brother's shoulders bear a sharp-edged snowflake on the left and the perimeter of lake superior on the right.

I am the only one unmarked. sometimes I think this makes me my mom's favorite. she finds my plain skin such a relief.

the three of us have long-standing plans to mark ourselves with the same tattoos. rarely are we all in the same place at once, and the opportunity to follow through just hasn't happened. when we all meet up, the conversation turns soon enough to our tattoos. we squabble over the design, then settle on something boldly and head out to find a tattoo shop. we did this last in minneapolis in february, too late at night, in a bone-chilling wind that made me realize how soft I'd grown in temperate california. nothing was open. we sort of knew nothing would be. I think we may have been counting on it.