An old man I know–a great grandfather–
steps into the tattoo parlor, tells the artist,
I am ready to begin my life.
Eight lingering decades carried in his creased cheeks.
Five blue numerals etched in his crinkled skin.
He presents his forearm for erasure.
Make it disappear, the old man says.
This number does not define me.
This poem inspired the narrative behind the short film Write Me and is published in PRISM: An Interdisciplinary Journal for Holocaust Educators (YU: Vol 12, Spring 2020)