My Uncles' Hands Were Strong
My Uncles’ Hands Were Strong…
My uncles’ hands were strong:
fathering children they never had.
My uncles’ hands were strong;
yet gentle like the chiseled hands
of Michelangelo’s Pieta:
strong saintly shooting hands
that touched tender souls with gentleness
only undying love could give.
On their bent backs
rose a Siamese nation
of oppressors and the oppressed:
a Janus nation whose face reflected
mockery of its supposed democracy.
My uncles’ hands were strong;
strong like steel hammers and anvils:
strong fisted hands breaking chattel chains.
Yes, my uncles’ hands were strong:
and the strong men just keep coming on…!
Copyright © Millard Lowe | Year Posted 2015
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