After my wife died
I got the kids
My son and daughter
We set up shop in Newark
In a old factory on chestnut
It was a really old place
Full of darkness and new beginnings
We liked it that way
We played sting Englishman in New York
The theme of the mission
This place was a womb………………
It was full of lots of light and love
Anyway mother Kevin
Was At the stove cooking away
Frying French fries for the kids
The pot caught a fire
The grease was too hot
So all I could think of way losing this place
And the kids and I having no place to go
So I grabbed this pot and walked calmly to the sink
I mean this pot was over hot
On fire and here I was calmly walking to the sink
I didn’t feel any thing
Some one threw water on the pot
It might have been me
And the grease
The hot oil bubbled over the side
Scalding my hands
My kids were there watching this
Scared
Screaming dad
I dumped that grease on the sink
Doused it with floor
And the fire was out
My daughter yelled
You hands your hand
I ran cold water over my hands
For a long time
Scared for the coolness to stop
Scared to look down
When I did
And we all looked at my hands together
They were sore they were red
But I only had first degree burns
Redding and pain
But I could handle it
Wasn’t much
After this day
My hands always stayed dry
I have to pile on lotion
But nothing works like Vaseline
I always for get
And some days my hands look
Like those of one of those old black guys
That used to work along side my father
Deacon Lee, I nice man who never said a word to most folks
He was quiet
But he smiled and smiled and I always felt so safe
With the deacon
He talked to me, showing me how to hammer a nail
Showing me how to build things, to fix things
As he worked on my fathers old building
That he rented out on the bad side of town
In those days we used to collect the nails
That was used in the old parts of the steps
The railing or the floors we were replacing
I used to play with those rusty nails
Organizing them in to forms
The threat of lock jaw only made it fun
I dreamed of lock jaw…………..would it make me silent
Deacon Lee
My mother used to make us bacon and eggs and grits
At the kitchen table
I was a kid
Kids didn’t eat with men
But my father would always feed me
I loved to watch my father eat
My father
Would Always break me off some food
I loved watching these men Eat
And imagining that some day I would
Be one of them
Before we set on weds days to work
We ate
I was so bad that my mother needed a break
And hanging with my father
Was supposed to help me
It did
It showed me manhood
And although I would be fifty
Before I could even begin to figure it out
It was school
It showed me how to build
How to be jackleg
How to make some thing from used parts
And on those steps and in those old building
I added things to my developing need to make things
Rust and smells
Life and lived in empty Rooms, painted with cheap color
Molding, and rot and the memories and renewal
On my fathers tenant buildings
My father was a barber and worked five days a week
Nine to nine
And on his days off, he worked with his hands
All the while directing others to rebel
The buildings, were filled
With all of my cousins, aunts, and family
On my fathers side
People just up from the south
My father was the head of his family
And those who came with gold teeth
And dreams of the north
People came to him
So when I look at my hands
It connects me to these times
They were good days
I remember this why working on a new sculpture
Of the world
An open glob
I just brought some stain
And asked my self why do I use so much stain
And then I looked at my hands and knew
It is the lotion
The stain removes the ashy-ness of my pieces
It makes them look alike
Hides the damage
And pulls it all together
Yup the stain that I use so much of
Is the lotion
On my ashely hands and my life
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