The Scar

On the back porch
in a cardboard box
covered with dust
and webs
a pencil letter from my dad
laying
in a hospital bed
in Omaha,
16 years old or so,
detailing the removal
of his appendix,
an emergency,
the stitches then removed
and now attached
in the upper left hand corner
of the letter.

I was scared
to see the scar when I was five.
Such a hideous mark
on a man of such
immeasurable compassion.