Rock Biter

They look
Like Big
Strong hands
Don’t they?

But for some
They are eerily reminiscent
Of drunken stepfathers who didn’t listen
Abusive lovers
Who didn’t ask permission
Of bullies
Who never got to see the gold within
’Cause they were too busy
fracking the aether out of Innocents

These Bronze Hands
Give people flashbacks of Brass Knuckles
Tall, dark, and sinister
Skip across their eyelids
Wary of their trinkets
These hands
Look like they would snatch their children out of the night

In the eyes of a stranger
Is hard to chisel away
So I choose to dispel the myths and preconceived notions

Not all giants from the ocean are created violent
Some of us
Dream of violin solos
While fumbling with a lack of nimble

These Big, Strong hands
Are too small to cradle all these broken dreams

I hold them too close, I suppose

The pitter-patter of shattered hopes on tattered heart-strings
Are a practiced tune
These fingers sing

They make me a target
So many Napoléons
Want their volley to knock the nose off the sphinx
So I meandered to the metamorphosis of these metacarpals into mandible
munchers and it made me malignant

They look
Like big ol’ meat mashers
don’t they

These boulders
Used to reduce mountains into molehills
But though they Once Were Warriors

These old soldiers gather moss now
They’ve seen enough violence for two lifetimes and have since retired
They beg forgiveness
For sinning against their brothers
And taking up arms against them

Nobody ever asks me what I see
’Cause to me
They look like blame the big kid
For defending himself against the antagonistic little shit
with the chip on his shoulder

They look like
These big digits won’t fit fingertip thimble kisses
They look like high-roller scapegoats
And tactile regret

I know
What they look like
But they are

Grandpa’s fissures filled with pride in combing my hair
They’re Grandma’s amethyst veins helping me cross cracked pavement
They’re dad’s throwing discus
My Uncle’s shooting hoops
My brothers playing music

Regardless of what they look like
My hands are Large
And Powerful
From a long line of love
With no time for the presumptions
Of Mice and Men

My hands
Were trained by Earth mothers
Who let ‘Ōlelo Hawai‘i roll thunder ’cross the valleys and echo from the

My granite palms
Are diamonds in the rough
Smooth enough to wipe away little streams from Northern Springs
And put pressure on cuts
To stop rivulets from leaking

My hands
And Heal
Move nimbly with knot work
They tremble and quake
They help me stand up straight

My hands can stand the heat

So that even while it’s still molten
They will help shape
The golden heart
Within the next