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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