Our field (poem)

I knew how to plant a field,
so I did, for another,
on the promise of a share
and something to barter for now,
something to feed me and mine
keep body and soul together
and clothe and shelter us.

And the other was pleased
- happy at all our field grew,
so he gave me a little more,
another field,
and some dirt to add,
and promised a share
- lesser, but more to barter now.

And I toiled in the other's fields
plied my craft for their gain
- and my family and I,
for didn't we have more to barter now,
while we waited for our share?

And the other was pleased
- happy at all our fields grew,
so he gave me a little more,
more fields,
more piles of dirt and fertiliser
- manure, some called it,
to mix and add,
for lesser share - but
more
to barter now.

And I toiled and toiled,
and thought of my family,
and all they could barter
- and looked at the mountains of dirt
one called overtime,
another called paperwork,
yet another called loyalty,
and from my closed in plot of earth,
I looked at the sky shrinking away,
and called my field,
the place I plied my craft,
my grave.

© Kayleen White, 2008