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My uncles were strong men
with strong hands; hands
fathering children they never had.
My uncles were strong men
with strong hands; hands
yet gentle like the chiseled hands
of Michelangelo’s Pieta:
strong saintly soothing hands
that touched tender souls with gentleness
only undying love could give.
From their strong hands
and bent backs
rose a Siamese nation
of oppressors and the oppressed:
a Janus nation whose faces reflected
the mockery of its supposed democracy.
My uncles’ hands were strong; hands
strong like steel hammers and anvils:
strong fisted hands breaking chattel chains.
Yes, my uncles’ hands were strong---
“and the strong men just keep coming on…!”
God, let me be strong
like my uncles---
“and the strong men just keep coming on…!”
