map of scars

my son in tears
on a warm june afternoon
and all of my words
turned to dust

my own childhood
always with me

the sense of failure

of 100,000,000 orphans
with their hands cut off or
their tongues ripped out

a minor tragedy as
the price of gas rises

this idea that i am
responsible for
the lives of others

this piece of land
scraped out
from between two hills
in a moment of anger

the river and
the bodies it holds

the direction
it flows

always home
no matter how lost
you end up being

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