How Many Words Can A Man's Hands Hold? Poem by Joi Johnson

Her father was a big man.
Big hands. Big heart.
He was a silent man,
but he showed her words.
He taught her how to grab them
and hold them in her hands,
bring them to her mouth,
eat and drink them,
let them slide across her teeth
and swirl on the back of her tongue.
She opened wide for big words
like
rebellion and
witchcraft.
Responsibility.Respect.
Those words grew her into big young woman.
A strong young woman.
A silent young woman.
She thought she had digested
all the words I needed
until one day he said
he had caught
a new word.
A big word.
Metastasis.
They began to gather new word
stogether.
Alopecia.
Neuropathy.
Myelosuppression.

Then bigger words like

progressive,
palliative and

protocol.
Her father was a big man.
These words were bigger.
Together, they couldn't swallow
them all.
They choked.
One July morning her silent father left her
one last word.
A heavy word.
The biggest word.

Eternity.

~For those of you who have lost your fathers~
<3