Out of the Woods

I promised myself

I'd get a tattoo

if I survive this winter -

a little outline of a dress

on my right shoulder.

She said, you should

probably be in-patient

and I smiled

the little grim outline

of anger and repugnance.

Winter is like that

one day you're fine

just shopping for lettuce

and toiletries, and

the next day you're in bed

contemplating the best way

to fade quietly into January.

I'm looking forward to spring,

the tattoo artist will ask me

they always do -

the inspiration for my tattoo.

I'll say I survived

that the winter didn't kill me

that I'm just fine, thank you,

the calamity of slowing suffocating

behind me like a bad dream

the kind that leaves you gasping.

I can only hope the tattoo artist

won't be horrified, but

he's probably seen worse

and that makes me even happier

to be out of the woods.