THE HAND.

She gets out of the house

Before the sun rises,

And comes back home

After the sun goes down

She has two hands,

Soft and tender,

Loving and caring

Working very hard.

Both her hands are lacerated

By the sharp edge of papers,

The hands that bring food to the table

For her offspring.

The hands that kneads three blocks of clay,

Into the right shape,

The right shape of mind

For the next generation.

 

Dã-Thảo Quế Trần

Spring 1998

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