Hanque O . . . - A Seed Within

I wonder how far back I would have to go
To find an ancestor who understood
The heft of an axe or the weight of a scythe.
When I am splitting wood I feel no connection
To anyone, or any part of my childhood.
This is something I have learned for myself.
But the extreme pleasure it affords me
Suggests that perhaps there is a seed within me
That was sowed generations ago, before
My ancestors came to this country to ply their trades.
I am not sentimental toward my heritage,
It causes me no special warmth; but I would
Like to think there was one at least, like me,
Whose hands are not soft and pink, but hard.

Hanque O . . .

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