The men in my family
have skin like iron,
their breath is hot like the coal
that smolders under red skies.
The day I was born,
my father held me
with busted knuckles
and left bits of blood
on my head when he kissed me,
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when he raises his fists
my mother reminds me that
he was raised
by a man made of metal
who used my father’s back
to cut pig meat.
When he raises his fists
he reminds me
that I
am to follow.
