Papa, Tell Me Your Stories

By Debi Mukherjee

Papa, are these calluses on your hands? 

And look, mine are soft, like summer sands. 

Tell me your stories, the ones you hold, 

shaping the hard lines ‘round your mouth, so bold! 

You have loved me, but I have never known you, 

the way you have known me. 

The steep climbs you have had, 

that have led to your callused hands, 

look mine are still soft, like summer sands. 

Tell me and be my beacon, 

do not hold your back for me, 

but tell me how to hold my own . 

By Debi Mukherjee