Rock Biter

They look

Like Big

Strong hands

Don’t they?

But for some

They are eerily reminiscent

Of drunken stepfathers who didn’t listen

Abusive lovers

Who didn’t ask permission

Of bullies

Who never got to see the gold within

’Cause they were too busy

fracking the aether out of Innocents

These Bronze Hands

Give people flashbacks of Brass Knuckles

Tall, dark, and sinister

Skip across their eyelids

Wary of their trinkets

These hands

Look like they would snatch their children out of the night

Fright

In the eyes of a stranger

Is hard to chisel away

So I choose to dispel the myths and preconceived notions

Not all giants from the ocean are created violent

Some of us

Dream of violin solos

While fumbling with a lack of nimble

Sometimes

These Big, Strong hands

Are too small to cradle all these broken dreams

I hold them too close, I suppose

The pitter-patter of shattered hopes on tattered heart-strings

Are a practiced tune

These fingers sing

Sometimes

They make me a target

So many Napoléons

Want their volley to knock the nose off the sphinx

So I meandered to the metamorphosis of these metacarpals into mandible

munchers and it made me malignant

They look

Like big ol’ meat mashers

don’t they

These boulders

Used to reduce mountains into molehills

But though they Once Were Warriors

These old soldiers gather moss now

They’ve seen enough violence for two lifetimes and have since retired

They beg forgiveness

For sinning against their brothers

And taking up arms against them

Nobody ever asks me what I see

’Cause to me

They look like blame the big kid

For defending himself against the antagonistic little shit

with the chip on his shoulder

They look like

These big digits won’t fit fingertip thimble kisses

They look like high-roller scapegoats

And tactile regret

I know

What they look like

But they are

Grandpa’s fissures filled with pride in combing my hair

They’re Grandma’s amethyst veins helping me cross cracked pavement

They’re dad’s throwing discus

My Uncle’s shooting hoops

My brothers playing music

Regardless of what they look like

My hands are Large

And Powerful

From a long line of love

With no time for the presumptions

Of Mice and Men

My hands

Were trained by Earth mothers

Who let ‘Ōlelo Hawai‘i roll thunder ’cross the valleys and echo from the

Cliffs

My granite palms

Are diamonds in the rough

Smooth enough to wipe away little streams from Northern Springs

And put pressure on cuts

To stop rivulets from leaking

My hands

Massage

Caress

Intertwine

And Heal

Move nimbly with knot work

They tremble and quake

They help me stand up straight

My hands can stand the heat

So that even while it’s still molten

They will help shape

The golden heart

Within the next

Mountain