Fruit Picker

You can cast me out

You can

Because you don't know me.

You never had to look me right here -

Right here in the eyes and tell me

You don't want people like me around here.

It would be a little harder then wouldn't it,

Fruit Picker,

To toss me back into the heap like a bad apple;

One brown spot too many.

Look at me!

You see me now in the sun and the sod, in the shine of the linoleum,

There, in the back with your dirty dishes, your crusts and crumbs.

Someday you will see me --

My back no longer bent over the green rows;

My hands no longer black, stained with the blood of your fruit;

My glory no longer restrained under a bandana -

But flying as a bandera -

Freedom whipping across my face

Joy stinging my almond eyes!

I will not be thrown back by you,

For I am Chosen!

Not by you, Fruit Picker,

But I am Chosen!

Poem by Hope A. Horner, ©2012