Guillermo Veloso (September 25 1962 / New York City)

Well-worn rough
This American hand
Creased with soil from cotton fields and asphalt
Calloused with trains, skyscrapers and baseball
This hand is smooth from
Molding a nation
Set fire to freedom while cracking the whip
Breaking black backs and raising hope with words
It is fierce it is still
It has torn mountains in Panama
It has seen sunrise in Manila
It is Berliner loved and scorned
It is buried in strange and faraway places; cross and star
This American hand is still young
Two century teen
Rambunctious, impetuous, looking to get its way
Awkward in many ways
This hand is still warm and ready for the weak, weary, unwashed
Eager to grasp at a future
Still unwritten and full of nervous energy
It is reaching for stars
It is swimming with quarks
It is putting pen to fresh paper and writing new stories
And lies upturned, open and waiting