MY PAPI'S HANDS

A father’s love and determination inspire a child’s hopes and dreams.

Small, light-skinned hands rest atop large, brown ones etched with years of hard labor, set against a blue-sky backdrop. “My papi’s hands / are bigger than / mine. / Darker, / poderosas, / calloused.” As the unnamed child narrator proudly notes, Papi’s hands help erect cities, build roofs, set up walls and shelves, and establish communities. His hands, it turns out, also “are playful, / funny, / magical,” able to pull Mamá in for a dance, beat music on drums, and stir love. Much like a wistful daydream, Richardson’s vivacious, warm verses illuminate the unbreakable, rich bond between parent and child, nourished to its fullest potential. Scenes of domestic bliss and altruistic communities encourage readers to consider brighter possibilities, even as the hard facts of reality creep in: “My papi’s hands / get tired— / from work, / from worry, / from hate.” (Accompanying images reference the bigotry that many migrants experience.) Rodriguez’s textured artwork boasts vivid colors and strong line work, dominated by greens that depict verdant landscapes. Thanks to Papi’s hands and the fruits of their labor, the young narrator rejoices in the prospect of a brighter future built together—all in all, a rosy, relevant message with a Latine family at its center. A brief glossary elucidates the occasional Spanish words that crop up.

An alluring call to paradise hard-won.