Harvest

Harvest, a time let the fruition show

From prune to May we watched them grow

Finally there’s that summer glow

It brings the grape from the sow

“100 cajas hoy” yells the mayordomo

120 hands, 3 to 1 is the ratio

To get through the pisca we’ll have to pick up the tempo

Six months of this and hopefully then a rest back to “mi país lindo”

Seasons come and seasons go

The bodies of the harvest left on the wayside, Let’s pay them homage

 

Working through the Bakersfield’s hottest

Tuning into La Campesina,

The radio activist says

“The working conditions are onus”

To cope they listen and sing some sonnets

You know, To feel like they weren’t forgotten

The yielding hope is their mobility will improve their children and family stability

What humility!

But it’s a lucid hope that only helps propel iniquity

Harvest represent fertility,

But the bodies enduring the work are left with irreversible fragility

Not to mention the emotional pain from surviving la migra and politically bigotry

Wow, nearly 30 seasons under their belt, What resiliency!

Hopefully they can retire into tranquility

Not so fast, Farm owners remind them

We owe you “only limited liability”

They absolve themselves of social responsibility

They only care of their tax liabilities

To them, the bodies of this labor are of transmutability

“Thanks for your work, do you have any family with availability?”

J.Mar