Her Hands

Fern-Wrapped Wonder – Michai Sanders

Her Hands

Caleb Finley

My hands bear a history of calluses.

Before I was born,

They were scarred—

Pricked by the stem,

Hardened by the roots,

Cracked by the whip,

Dried by the relentless sun.

Darker they became,

Thicker than the skin that carried them,

Yet fragile under the weight of time.

Through my own labors,

Through the will of my people,

I inherit their callouses.

The cycle continues

The scars deepen.

The stripes of injustice,

The sirens that pierce the night’s skin,

The bullets that leave us marked,

The laws that grind us thin.

Each one a layer.

Each one a reminder.

I, now carry the hands of my ancestors,

Hardened by their lull,

Strengthened by their pain.

And in my chest,

Where flesh once softened,

My heart, too, is calloused.