Dust
Small clouds of dust
rise
from the dry, hard
ground.
Tiny millet seeds
fall
from the gourd
into hollowed holes.
Bare feet
step
over the stony field,
calloused,
rooted
in the soil,
growing out
of the ground.
“God
formed people
from the dust
of the ground.”
I understand.
I am
a person
working, stooping
planting
to help
my family
live
in this world.
I rise
slowly.
I see
you.
Do you see
me?
- Trevor Scott Barton, Left Foot Poems, 2022
No comments:
Post a Comment