A Rainbow of Hands

A Rainbow of Hands


My father, a skilled carpenter by trade,
callouses and scars would not fade.
His parents were illiterate sharecroppers.
Droughts and monsoons often meant paupers.

America is a land of immigrants.
Each one was an expert in diligence.
They built sturdy families and towns.
Bleeding, broken bodies; nary a sound.

Forging friendships, businesses, religions.
Similar people came together in regions.
This experience in early democracy,
brought allegiances but also atrocities.

History books often relate a fairy tale.
Pilgrims, Indians meet, eat, on a grand scale.
The truth of America’s growth is epic drama;
bravery, growth, starvation, years of trauma.

Now, we decide the future of this land.
It is up to votes from a rainbow of hands.
We have survived wars, explored Outer Space.
There is no reason we can’t win this race.

By Kathie Stehr
November 6, 2020
20 lines
Prompt: Thanksgiving