I have let my hands use my head, blinded my eyes, denied my heart. I have forgotten the face of my father. This is more than BB guns behind the garage; this is the strange stinging sweetness of cleaning oil and smooth movement that is no longer hand-arm but mind-eye; this is small and powerful in the hands of protective and knowing. I miss knowing who I am and how I want to live.

I have never known my mother's face. I hold dear my father's.

I do not aim with my hand.
He who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I aim with my Eye.

I do not shoot with my hand.
He who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I shoot with my Mind.

I do not kill with my hand.
He who kills with his hand has forgotten the face of his father.
I kill with my Heart.
-s.k.