Those Hands
You know…he has hands
exactly like his father’s…
Hands that once tore open and pulled apart
the child I was and should have been.
I love him…I do!
He is my flesh and my blood lies beneath
that skin so much like his.
You know…he is my son and not the one
who crushed and destroyed and raped and burned
and stole my childhood away from me.
And with love and hidden revolt, I will hold to his soul
And forever tremble at the sight of his precious hands
Even I know that.
