First we shake the trees
and almonds fall from the sky,
like hundreds of tan little hearts.
beneath the shade of the young tree,
I pick up earth and nuts from the ground,
carry good and bad in the palm of my hand,
foreman’s eyes peer upon me punitively.
I don’t want to do this forever .
Shaking and picking.
So early in the morning.
Within us workers,
tan, falling to the ground, good and bad,
there is a heart and feeling,
not to be shared beneath the trees,
beneath the foreman’s eyes,
until we pick ourselves up from the ground.
The Straitjackets publishes short stories, essays, political commentary, personal memoirs, poetry, book excerpts, etc. Next issue: Works By or About Women. Taking submissions until April 1.