I.
He had strong hands and nervous eyes.
Uncertain of the white women with western words.
He told his story like he had asked the same question for ten years and never found an answer.
His eyes begged me believe the bad his hands held belonged to someone else
Mouth atoned with words that fell like tears from the sea
—out of the broken pieces of unstoppable waves running from a storm
But you could see by the soul in his palms
He had repaired broken with guilty.
II.
The memories in his deep dark dilated pupils were child,
His soul forever commemorating the child he lost.
His soul forever commemorating the child he lost.
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