Grandpa
When I heard you wrote love poems
Something inside 
Deep and secret 
Rejoiced

You were funny
Loved to get into tickle fights
Wore a mischievous grin just like mine 
or was it the other way around

You survived the violence of white men
Whose ignorance and fear tried to destroy you
Doctors thought you'd die
Then that you’d never walk again

You showed me the scars in your arm 
Where screws held bones together 
Looking at you
Walking around just fine
You seemed indestructible

I heard of your golden gloved fists 
Skillfully a fighter
Prized and respected in the ring

Later I heard of these same fists
Brown and bloodied
Keeping your mother and siblings safe from your father’s violence

My dad told me our fighting 
Was always about protecting
Family
Community
Beloveds

He told me another story
Of you arguing with Grandma
And walking out so as not to bring your fists to bear 
Instead you walked
And found other men to fight
To hurt

So I learned a confusing path of manhood
This confluence of love and violence
Men fighting men
To protect women and children
Men fighting men
To not beat women and children

Grandpa
When I heard you wrote love poems
Something inside 
Deep and secret 
Rejoiced

Maybe there was more to our manhood 
More to our hearts  
Than hardening ourselves for the violence
The hurt
The isolation
The rejection 
That’s also here

Compressing it all in
Balling it up
Tighter 
Like a fist
Seeking release 
Seeking something
Anything
To match the depth and volume of that pain

Instead 
Maybe 
Our manhood 
Our hearts 
Could reveal something deeper
Our courage
To feel
To be open
To find the words to rejoice at the wonder of this precious life
To voice our love and tenderness
Even as the conditions of violence try to tear our flesh
And break our bones

This blessing of manhood you also left for me
To continue the story 
Of our lives 
Our loves
Our courage
Our tenderness
Our wonder