My Father Says

You should wear stripes, my father says,
They make you look wider.
You’re too thin, he says,
Not wide enough.

Your hands are so soft, my father says,
never had hard work.
His rough ones enclose mine.

Your grandfather was good with these things, my father says
Still is.
He worked as a carpenter, he says,
for much of his life.

You should wear stripes, my father says
You’re too thin.
He stands before me, wide-shouldered.
Is he wide as his dreams, I wonder;
Am I thin as mine?