Dust

Small clouds 

of dust

rise

from the dry,

hard 

ground.

Tiny millet seeds

fall

from the gourd

into hallowed holes.

Bare feet

step

over the stony field,

calloused

from a lifetime

of living,

playing, 

and working

without shoes.

The hoe

is 

her hand.

The people

are

growing out 

of the ground,

their feet

rooted

in the soil.

“God

formed people

from the dust

of the ground.”

I understand.

I am

a person

working.

stooping

and planting

to help

my family

live.

I rise

slowly.

I see

You.

Do you see

me?

- Trevor Scott Barton, poems for brown-eyed girls, 2022