This is where he hit me with
a Sunday School slate,
punishment for playing a hot game
of Tic-Tac-Toe on the back of a pew
with a pocket knife. I was winning.

These freckles came
from years of forced labor
in his gardens, upper and lower.
Down below, we grew tomatoes, beans, onions.
Above, bushels of potatoes, corn, and melons.

I’m glad you can’t see inside
this face, where it is wired together,
after it cracked from the force of a blow,
in 1974. You don’t want to know.