Sign Language

Stare at my hands and dare them to speak
scars that blink as they move
tri-tone paint splattered callouses
mix with fresh cut skin

fingers thick and clumsy
beaten and moulded
by heavy weights
hard work
and hours of hitting a heavy bag

they have punched brick
smashed plasterboard
one knuckle still in two
from an errant tooth
in a bar room brawl

the story they most want to tell
is the day they passed you to me

gentle
shaking I wept
for fear they were too clumsy
to hold your fragility

a triumph as my hands cradled you
to my chest