Before I was born
my dad died in an
accident except it
wasn’t an accident at
least that’s what my
brother says he was
twelve at the time but
he said my dad was
shot in the fields
while working maybe
over drugs or
something but they
shot him then they
turned his tractor on
let it run over his
body brother said
there were a lot of
gashes on my dad’s
face too you could see
them at the funeral
service that’s what he
says I wasn’t there I
wasn’t born yet but
there are nights I
dream those gashes
feel like the field
I work in every day
WHEN I ASK MY BROTHER ABOUT OUR DAD
Like I told you
I don’t remember
much. Our dad
was just a mean man.
If he wasn’t working,
he was drinking. The cerveza
bottle became his left hand.
One time I tripped over his boots
as I stood up he hit me
against the wall,
brushed his boots
off.
I lost my first tooth then.
When mom found out he had another
family—
she kicked him
out
and when he asked if I wanted to go
with him
or stay,
I stayed.
_____________________________________
Amanda Huynh is a native Texan living in Virginia. She attends the MFA Creative Writing Program at Old Dominion University. She was a finalist for the 2015 Gloria Anzaldúa Poetry Prize and recently was one of eight poets to receive an AWP 2016 Intro Journals Project Award. Her work is published or forthcoming in the following journals: Tahoma Literary Review, Muzzle Magazine, Huizache, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and As/Us: Women of the World.
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