Callused and rough, toughened by long days
spent sweltering at steady toil,
these were the hands of a man
who labored hard and much,
so he could come home
and offer us
tenderness
in his
touch.
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Author Notes
Labor Day is so much more than the last day the pool is open and the last hurrah for summer. My father was a steamfitter, and one of my most lasting memories of him is those rough, callused hands. When he came home from work, there was always dirt under his fingernails, but he took a hot bath before we ate dinner to wash off the grime of the work site. He couldn't wash away the calluses, though. But when he picked me up or held my hand in his, all I felt was love and safety and the dedication of a strong man who supported his family and came home to us each night, filled with smiles and tenderness.
A nonet is a nine line poem that has nine syllables in the first line, then eight, then seven, all the way down to a final line of one syllable.
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