Mis Manos

My hands are a green field
Where my parents, children, and siblings
And some other guests have been fed

With them, I dealt with a screw
The plow handles
With them, I cut the firewood
For a reheated taco

With one, I wrote my name
With the other, I wrote my song
With one, I wiped my forehead
With the other, I dried my tears
With one, I wrote my name
With the other, I wrote my song
With one, I wiped my forehead
With the other, I dried my tears

If I love them, they tell me
If they are a well-sown field
That with some rain
They will continue to harvest
So that mine can eat
And some other guests

With them, I took my mother
To give her a kiss on the forehead
I also hugged my father
On a silent wolf day
Bald without words
The hands are the ones that spoke

With one, I wrote my name
With the other, I wrote my song
With one, I wiped my forehead
With the other, I dried my tears
With one, I wrote my name
With the other, I wrote my song
With one, I wiped my forehead
With the other, I dried my tears

If I love them, they tell me
To them, I sing my song