Grandfather’s Hands

huge, blackened with coal dust

hoist his grandson’s waist

to keep him from sinking

right hand resting on hip

left crossing overalls

(do miner clothes predict a future as

A closed circumference? Grandchild’s soft

hand curls around thumb

Reflex of infant memory, the son’s body

Leaning against granddad’s wrinkled

Corduroy. The ridged veins of his

Hands are radiant tributaries to

Ancient, dusky rivers; he’s known rivers.

This is laying of hands-on-hands.

A Secret

It’s only the wood board across the counter

Reminding me I’m better than you.

I see the Budweiser and Jax signs in

Bold color behind you like a

Forbidden desire. Over there’s

A big jar of milk, honey in a mayonnaise glass

And they appear to shine from within—that

Don’t mean nothin’—and a

Barrel-shaped heater to the right.

Water puddles on this side like an oil slick.

You look at me from this distance

Left side of the girl’s haunted, austere face

On a hot morning, fork in hand

Poised elegantly over the plate. The

Black boy’s all in shadow, window

Behind a picture screen of blasting light.

You are nothing but savage mystery

Barbaric African death-mask primeval essence of

Blood fractioned blood. What is it you

Possess there on the other side?

I can’t fathom your vigilant eyes.

There’s a secret behind locked like a door.

The board slides down; it banishes your presence

That bedevils my waking dreams.

The Careworn

There’s a tormenta whipping dust

In this valle, wind swirling across brown earth

Sunlight and cloud-shadow

Luminous upon the land.

My black hair straggles in whimsical gusts

Cotton sweater soiled, torn collar

Imperfectly buttoned in haste, my hand

Cupping a cluster of small hopes.

I smile a ruin of broken teeth.

My eyes hold sad historias. I place myself

And m’ija, daughter of

Depthless brown eyes, in

The hands of la Virgen. She knows

The beauty of the careworn

Those who must do without.