I get snatches from an early memory,
Mother holding an axe overhead,
The evening's firewood she sought,
From the log of wood that lay ahead.

She brought down the blade,
Blunted by time and use,
It stuck onto the log refused to let go,
She lifted the axe with the log and all, brought it down with a rage.

I remember a sharp pain on my left side,
And warm liquid flowing on my face,
I remember the crowds running and and hurrying,
I turned around to see what was happening that way.

I heard the rumors of a scream, whispering violently,
Like an irritating fly it unsettled me and my mother, shocked,
But the scream did not originate within my throat,
A collective roar split the land where the crowds so quickly flocked.

flashback stops


I am now the feared one-eyed pirate that  sails the seven seas,
A silent ghost of a tear appears from the eye that isn't there,
Alas! Now the legends of how mine disability arose,
Makes only for whimsical tales narrated in the company of another jovial wayfarer.