tiberiusprime

To Tata:

Hands like an old leather boot left to the elements
red roads built in the fields, cracked, bleeding crevices
rich soil married to fingernails - nuptials of pain
Your speech I didnt know Tata - but I could read
the chapters of toil upon your weathered face
crying out to grandchildren - novelas of heartaches
written in the thousands of miles
you walked
up and down fruit fields