When I was little my grandpa would point
to the small dented scar above his eye
and tell me
That’s where the bullet went
through my head in the war
and came out the other side
I’d look at him in wonder and for years I believed him
Then I got older and I’d
roll my eyes and say
Grandpa I know you got that scar
playing with your brothers and sisters
when you fell and hit your head
on the iron bedstead
But now
now I’d give just about anything
to hear him tell that story again
