Contributor: C. M. Allen

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I have small hands

As a man
This is a handicap
Something to be overcome

Oh sure
They are wide enough
Fingers almost thick enough

But my digits are short
Stumpy
Giving the appearance of sausages

No man
With such hands
Is afforded respect

I examine them
Scars burns calluses
And am flooded with memories

Amazing things
Have been done
With these hands

They have built
Created
Written and painted

Held new life
With strength
With care

They have been soaked
In the blood
Of fallen friends

Given comfort
To the dying
And rest to the dead

Wrung themselves raw
In agonizing regret
Over deeds of war

More importantly
They have loved
And made love

Yet still
I am judged
By their size

Short
Stumpy
Sausages


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An auto-didactic combat veteran with a penchant for strategic misspellings; currently a police sergeant residing in Germany with Bohemian spouse, Haitian daughter, German-American son, sycophant street-dog, and a head full of pseudo-philosophy and post-traumatic stress.