Sogaimiti
The green-blue marks of the tufuga's* tools run down his thighs
Patterns in shades of deep-ocean-dark and unsealed-road-like lines
Back to his ancestors and forward to his descendants
He is young and good in a way that makes it impossible to imagine he might ever become old
angry...
drunk.
He speaks quietly like the 'shhhhhhh' sound his teachers made when he laughed too loudly as a child
His skin is brown like the soil used to be
and soft,
like it still is,
underneath the white man's concrete.
*Samoan tattooist
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