FebulousFebruary 2026: The Old Photograph

Marked

You exploded onto me.

The incriminating ink pack secreted in the bag of stolen money.

Vibrant, wild, permanent.

You wrote your name on me with a Sharpie

and again with just your finger

and again with a desperate palm

and again with just your tongue

and again and again and again.

You exploded onto me like a Biro in a bag,

a squid in a vice,

like a renegade tattoo gun,

felt tip pens left out in the sun.

You are henna

and dye

and pickled red cabbage

and the oily yellow in Indian food,

and nude, I am a kaleidoscope of you,

and you, my you, are never truly gone.

By Hayley Sherman of India (and Ipswich)