Callous

Their skin blends with the rich, dark soil
Moist, fertile, broken now because
We’ve labored with our hoes

Backs bent
Bent over
Parallel with the earth to which we give
Our Energy our Sweat our Time

The yield is high
We are blessed
Mounds of cassava, potatoes, tomatoes, maize, yams
Bananas of so many varieties

Yes, the yield is high
The climate favors us
This morning is cool and cloudy
It will rain soon

Backs bent
Digging and breaking that promising ground
Which doesn’t blend with my skin
I stand to straighten
Worried I’ll walk away with a permanent view of the ground
If I don’t

My hoe is used to this work
The handle is worn smooth
Where other dark hands have gripped it
I’m glad they broke it in

I look again at my callous-turned-blister
Blisters turn to callouses
With rawness in between
Only I can break in these hands
There is no shortcut
My hands proudly yield to callouses

The yield is high, yes
Food enough to eat
Yet eaten by hunger for more

How many centuries,
How many societies,
How many people
Have been breaking hard ground?

How many mothers have borne children who needed fed,
Held with calloused hands while they suckled, then
Back to the garden
The field
The plot
Sleeping baby tied on back
Toddlers by their side,
Creating their first callouses
Small backs bent over small hoes
Small hands working small piles
Small mouths to feed

They are many
And keep growing
With their appetites for
Food, yes, but also
School Fees
a little Pocket Money
Smart Clothes
Radio
and even Television

When is it enough?
Other places are worse

The clouds are gathering
We are gathering food
For families
For friends
For futures
For now
Who’ll buy at my price?

Bend
Break
Yield
New callous

April Murdock
3 Sept. 2007