Harvest ©

the day of labor was heavy

on the backs of migrants in

the field who looked up at

the sky and across the land

from where worry comes. 

for several years, single 

young mothers on the run

have engaged in the same

old dance in harvest fields

reminding them the wider

world of things will be kept

from reach. at night, a few

mothers would silently walk

to the cathedral entrance and

sitting beneath its arches they

would scream without making

a sound.  the world goes on

reciting lines and raising its 

hand against these Brown 

women unaware that they 

have always worked, lived

and rested in the fields that

bed flowers warmly offered

by God.   

h.  j. Recinos