Papa

Your old hands told me

the busy years you spent

managing people and afternoons

to cut off the trees

that made one bastard filthy.

Your old hands told me

the quiet months you spent

in your rocking chair and pajamas

clueless of the seconds, hours,

days, months and years that passed.

Your old hands told me

the hurting days you spent

when your sons and daughters

grew up to be old-looking children,

lost , defeated, crying the years that wasn’t.

Your old hands told me

the elated hours you spent

cheering and playing with your gandchildren

as they battled personalities of giants

trapped in their small hands.

Tomorrow they will burry

the busy years, the quiet months,

the hurting days and the elated hours

that dawned those old hands.

I will not forget what they told me Pa.

Please be happy.