Reach

This is my granddaddy’s right hand.  At one time, my small infantile body sat cradled in it.  Before I was born, it gripped baseball bats and captured baseballs in mid air. It squared and doubled onto itself ready for various fights and spats during and on the way back from school.  It was unmatched in victory.  In my granddaddy’s boyhood, it picked through Alabama cotton plants, never lonely of soil and calluses–never lonely until pay day. Continue reading