By Samantha Chagollan
Dark Ink Now that you are gone, I want a tattoo to honor you. But what one symbol could I ink on my skin to encapsulate who my father was? An Aztec god, maybe, or a soldado like the one you sculpted out of clay with your strong brown hands. A sacred heart with your name, perhaps, with a crown for loyalty and flames for your passion. Maybe some of your distinctive handwriting, just your nickname for me: chula. You know how much I hate needles. But I need something significant to remember you by, someplace to channel my daily conversations as I try to remember your voice, some dark ink to be released from my heart and onto my forearm that shows I am hurting, like a bruise.
Samantha Chagollan is a writer and artist who centers much of her creative work around her mixed Mexican and American heritage. She earned a bachelor’s degree in English literature from Cal Poly Humboldt, where she focused her studies on multicultural literature. Her work has been featured in Alebrijes Review, Lavender Bones, and in the anthology Nonwhite and Woman from Woodhall Press. She lives in Costa Mesa, California with her husband and two very precocious dogs.