Hard Man With Gentle Eyes

Hard Man With Gentle eyes

My father is a black man...
Skin leathered by the sun
penetrated with motor oil
covers his short stocky body
like canvas over boulders.
He sweats gasoline and morning dew.

My father peals his mind for me...
Discarding seeds,
bearing the fruits of his wisdom
in calloused hands;
a reminder of freedom sacrificed
for my freedom,
my future.

My father is a hard man...
With gentle eyes,
thick framed glasses never hide immortality
dancing in them on my reflection.
In them I am perfect
and if not,
they are forgiving.

Jessica Ann Corbin