my father's grandfather
when approached by two nazis in his workplace
            who held out an armband for him
            emblazoned with the devil's calligraphy
held his middle fingers stiff in their dagger eyes
and bared his teeth as they dragged him to prison

his son
as a little schoolboy
when asked by his teacher to tattle and give her the name
            of the boy who threw a rock and broke the window
spat in her face
and not even his lips regretted his loyalty
            when he marched out expelled

as a young man
when told a lie by his own 12-year-old son
            pulled the gun off the wall and shot at him
screaming through tears
as if reading some divine executive order:
"If I brought a coward and a liar
            into this world
            then it is my responsibility
            to take him out"
words that my father now echoes
            not with terror but with pride

as he tells his daughter the story
            of her iron blood
"It is blacksmith's blood"
he says
            "We are hard work and humility and integrity
                        and we live and die
                        for the truth"
not just truth when it is monstrous and burning
            but when it is embers and smoke

because battles are not chosen and
            they are always deathmatches
because in the minds of ironclad angels
            with faith glowing like hot coals
            and hearts like anvils
there is no difference
            and a mortal life forged in justice is nothing
                        but a vessel and a sacrifice