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Personal Note:

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Poem



Hear the faded out groans beneath each grocery store tomato,
Blisters popping out as old, worker hands 
Begin to pick up the pace,
Dirt growing thick, drilling beneath each thick fingernail
As the sun rises above rich tomato fields, casting down 
With great rays of fire,
Glares down at each of the workers and saves them no mercy,
Hours go by through a shared kind of misery,
The sun grows more vengeful
Shouting “keep working hard” and “why don’t you work faster”,
Yes, the sun glares right down at each living worker,
Makes them remember, they can’t go much further…
	
So hide all the shovels and hide all the earth worms, 
The sun child is forming… 
Legs moving wild within the thick womb,
Wrath taking over as dark eyes close tight, fists all hunched up,
But hold elders tightly before they dissolve,
Hold customs tightly before they dissolve,
Get drizzled down on some distant path,
Absorbed beneath the cruel dove-colored sun,
Elders humiliated beneath sharp rays of heat 
For the very last time before drifting off to nothing,
Rising above grounds to then become empty.

You see, the sun child came from a family of field workers,
A large lineage of Mexican poverty spiraling out, spreading its 
Coils towards the next generation, waiting to jump out toward
The new chubby face with shining infant eyes,
Anticipating the pounce toward the new living baby,
But does rain feel all nice when it pierces through 
Decades of dreaming for new hope in silence?
Did it feel nice to leave, break free from the sun,
When it costs years of bleeding, depriving of futures,
To keep yours alive when they didn’t have that option?

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