She turned 25 and remembered
her father's hands.
Her father's hands
locked the shop's door
opened their slamming screen door
and his children
sang their happy hooray song
and clapped their hands.
Her father's hands
pushed her sister's carriage
tucked her in at night
pushed her playground swing.
Her father's hands
wiped oil from the dipstick
mowed their bluegrass and clover lawn
wiped summer sweat from her brow.
Her father's hands
gave everyone a good-guy handshake
changed dirty cotton diapers
gave his babies bubble baths.
Her father's hands
cupped backyard baseballs
splashed in the neighbor's pool
cupped his stubbly chin.
Her father's hands
held holy books
prayed weekly at her bedside
held a double-edged razor.
Her father's hands
peeled navel oranges
read the morning paper
peeled beer-bottle labels.
Her father's hands
caressed the family dog
straightened her brother's school tie
caressed her mother's cheek.
She turned 30 and remembered
her father's hands.
Her father's hands
locked the front door
opened her bedroom door
and her father
sang his daddy bedtime song
clapping his hand over her mouth.
Her father's hands
pushed back woolen blankets
wiped the tear on her cheek
gave her grown-up touches
cupped her breasts
held her head
peeled off her pajamas
caressed her hairless pubes.
She turns 35 and remembers
her father's hands
crossed his lips for silence
crossed his heart in church.