"It's a boy." Cool. I love men.
His hands were so tiny.
Got me thinking about the cycle they talk about in The Lion King,
How something dies and becomes grass, and you can't outrun the past
Everything becomes nothing and yet stays something
I saw his little hands were opening and closing.
Yours were cold and rigid, blue, and not moving

There was life and death and life again
There were those football games you screamed at in vain
Your hands hit hard
They were huge, coarse, and calloused
From working at the mill
Words said out of malice
Packing your bags and unpacking your guilt
on our mothers

I hope his hands stay gentle
I hope he regrets every mean thing
Hope he never sings he :can't wait to be king."
I hope he turns power inside
I hope his touch is just tickles and little trinkets of affection
I hope his heart is bigger than his will to provide.
I hope he accounts for the fear his hands can be bring 
with a softness you would never recognise.
I hope he crosses the road when a a girl is walking in front of him at night 
I really hope he does better than the men in our lives.

I hope he doesn't run away
from the hard things and the hard feelings.
I hope his fists unclench and he stays
He's there for his children
I hope he only fights his own shadows and hands are just for healing.
I hope his fists are never bruised
in a room
that smells like his shame.

Because your daughters have paid in blood
for the sins of their father 
They paid  for their mother
They paid everytime they took a lover
For 100's of years 
They paid with their bones and swallowed tears 
Their bodies are broken bruised and blue
They paid off your debt
So his daughters don't have to.