"My Father's Hands"

By Melanie Brown

My father had strong hands.
I don't remember their touch,
but I know they were strong
because he was trained to kill with them.
My father had gentle hands
that once caressed his wife and
cradled his baby daughter.
My father's hands once played the trumpet.

My father's hands never touched mine
as we walked down the aisle to my husband.
My father's hands never held his grandchildren.
My father's hands will never again make music.
My father's hands were trophies
for the VC who killed him;

They never even made it home with him.

Copyright © 1994 By Melanie Brown, All Rights Reserved