Gleanings

Gleanings

Here
Where she scrabbled in dirt and in rain
Fingernails so packed with grit
Flies buzzing at her skin
She slapped at them in vain.

When others were fleeing to jobs
With glee
In finding identity
She a nonentity
Wiped noses, grew roses, dodged blows.

Now
Seeing fruit of the labor not vain
She looks back and knows
Her track that she chose
Was the way she could find
Her own peace of mind.

And the field she now visits
No longer disturbs
But gives harvest
Growing roses and writing prose.