From Jordan

From Jordan

My dad's hands Are rough. They can cover my Face when they're open And when they're closed They can take down any wall. They've picked me up When I fell off my bike 50 times, learning to ride with Just two wheels. And when I had that fever, They rubbed my forehead with A cold rag, And somehow the fever Vanished. They held my hand To cross the street On my first day of kindergarten, Where I cried Not wanting my daddy To leave me. They've beared the cold weather, So he could watch me Play soccer when I was 3 All the way to college. They've been at my high school Graduation, where he held the Camera, To take pictures of me Walking across the stage to get My diploma And they'll be there At my college graduation too. Today, His hands Are the same But rougher They've been through My first day of college, Helping me move in to my dorm Or hugging me for five minutes When I come home from school. Later on, They'll give me away To the man standing at the Altar, And hold his first Grandchild. These hands are my Childhood, Medicine, Strength, Home.