HER DADDY'S HANDS"
Her Daddy’s Hands
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His hands, you see, Mama says
were hard and callused.
They worked all day making bricks
that made houses he’d show her
as he flew his noisy old pick-up down the red
Alabama roads.
But on Sundays,
those hands, you see
felt soft,
and would hold my mama’s and walk her to church.
Quietly.
Him in black, her in white
along those red Alabama roads.
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