there is a place
hidden
just behind my hairline
an indention in my skull
only reachable by a loving hand’s touch
made by the steel flying jump boot
of a shamed airborne soldier
i tried to play house with
when i was a freshly liberated
ingénue of age sixteen
i don’t remember what i said to elicit that well thrown response
he knocked the memory right out of me
but i’m sure it was the proper military stratagem
for defeating a mouthy bitch
he was an expert marksman who hit his target
certainly a custer decision
from time to time i still rub it
and think of him sobbing
pleading
begging me to be okay
as my head swelled with the fluid of his remorse
drifting in and out of consciousness
on the couch
the only thing i know now
is how tragically little
i knew then
i’ve since forgiven him
but he taught me a lesson i’ll never forget
and have since used to survive
a reminder in the form of a permanent crack
in my young, impressionable head