He Stares Down at his Callused Palms and Smiles

 

Callused palms from tilting the earth

Hardened and thickened from weeding un-welcomed asphyxiation

Sweat-drops habitats his forehead

It’s blistering

He sips from a container and pours the rest on his sprouts

Agony possesses his being

He worries – worry for their survival

The sun sets, so he heads back to his hut without hope

He returns daily to sustain his routine

Weeks ahead, he tears

The harvest is good to him

He stares at his callused palms and smiles.

By Daniella Djiogan

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