Maybe the parapsychologists are right
To claim that birthmarks
Intimate wounds sustained in prior lives,
An idea darker & more complex than believing
The heart-shaped stain on your daughter’s back
Resulted from a mother’s love of strawberries.
This perfectly round benign brown button
Sewn onto my forehead in the womb
Must speak of a maternal great-uncle
Executed in Vinnytsia, 1942,
The bullet hole from which a plume of smoke
Escaped like a soul, if one believes in souls…
That whole side of the family gone now,
No one to ask about the ancestor
Named Alexei or Grigory or Ze’ev
Whose corpse bore a bullet hole on his brow,
This birthmark through which the unhoused wisp
Spirals into cursive to strike this page.
from The Gettysburg Review