scars

my father’s body is a map a record of his journey he carries a bullet lodged in his left thigh there is a hollow where it entered a protruding bump where it sleeps the doctors say it will never awaken it is the one souvenir he insists on keeping mother has her own opinionsbố cùa con điên—your father is crazy as a child i wanted a scar just like my father’s bold and appalling a mushroom explosion that said i too was at war instead i settled for a grain of rice a scar so small look closely there here between the eyes a bit to the right there on the bridge of my nose father says i was too young to remember it happened while i was sleeping leaking roof the pounding rain drop after drop after drop