Large, coarse hands, with nails near-black
palms etched with the moving of stones and the building of houses
strength melds into gentle attention at the flick of a rare cigarette
ash blended into work-stained skin
a glowing smile, almost brighter than the humble fire
blazing in a decrepit metal barrel
eyes shining, replete, perhaps
just nagged by the sweet smoking wood, maybe truly surprised
my heart breaks, the equation seems off
one kind word, one puff of tobacco, one shared fire
infinite warmth and the brilliant flash of maybe today
simple humanity, the throwing off of trepidation like a smallpox blanket
and then his friend
a firm handshake
a silent conversation
fencing, suspicion, irony,
the big “fuck you don’t pretend”
prickling fear behind deep brown eyes
veritable wells of memory
the trauma of generations
and I’m jolted in the mist of these hills
to the fact that in a moment, I could ruin his life
One lie to those teenagers around the corner
flashbangs, handcuffs, the butt of a gun
not just a cruel joke
although it might feel like one
I am not the hunted here.
