our father, our grandfather, the
generations before them
Strong legs, back, shoulders, hands
moved the stones, broke the ground,
toiled and tilled
Until our little corner of the world
exploded with flowers, became
lush green, grew and ripened.
Now we are the center
for delicious fruits,
the vegetable basket for the bay.
Our corn/your corn found
’round the west is sweet, crisp and tender
we wait for it, relish it,
brag about it yearly.
Whenever I look at you
I will remember
your hard labor
the sweat of your brow
the hardships you endured
so people like me could be.
Kati Short is Poet Laureate of Brentwood.
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