In his palm rested rosy cheeked daughters

with toothy smiles that anchored ships of joy

-boys- whose hearts docked on his pinky madly in love with his presence

A life partner who spun slowly in his palm

kept in motion by devotion and kisses

that never wiped away well enough, to forget

under his cuticles, lived harmlessness

under his thumbs, lived the day-to-day

anguish and honorable sojourn

of putting food to family belly

of spending 37 years avoiding

a (one-size-fits-all) description

of existing (on-the-hour)

Last we heard was a soldier scream

"He's got something in his hands"

We've always had some things

in our hands.