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
