These hands are tired,
Friend. Weathered after
Years of picking
Under the Delano sun.
A life spent setting your
Table that I might set mine.
This back is broken,
Friend. Weary and sore after
Decades stooped over fields
Of spinach and vines of grapes.
My health given for 38 cents a pound
To get my children educated at 50k a year.
I am too old,
Friend. With knees meant for
Treading on soft, moist earth,
Now creaky and sallow
From kneeling in dirt - in the shadow
Of your benign allyship.
Who will do the labor?
You value this work
But miss Me.
A history left across the ocean
Of schools and books and family and
Loves.
Lost.
Sunset at Asilomar State Park. 2017. Credit: AJ Joven