Today I saw your filthy hands.
I grimaced at the earth beneath your nails,
Your fingers were swollen,
Your knuckles bruised.
Hands shaped more like a shovel than a limb.
I saw you crawl on the dirt as you pushed your bucket
You picked the fruit and I looked away
as you winced in pain to lift it up.
You looked at me and with an ounce of strength and rose the bucket
over our shoulder ..
'Just once for your children you whispered to your self
'Just once for my wife and the baby soon to come.'
I turned away from those dirty hands, its Taco Bells problem or someone else.
So what if I make a salad for my houseguest.
I didn't bring him here or pay his bus.
He walks a hundred paces to drop the bucket to the truck.
In exchange he gets a ticket for a mere 45 cents
This makes no sense I shout.
To pay a man slave labor wage or see him lose his fingers to the dirt.
My eyes feel wet , I don't know why it hasn't rained in awhile
I only know that I too must fight,
not just for the man with the dirty hands but
with my dear brothers and sisters in Immokalee!
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Dedicated to Oscar.. my friend who lost a limb but gained a friend! Sr Khadijah Rivera
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