Picking Strawberries
there was a Saturday
when grandmother, brother,
mother, and I
picked strawberries
bent low to the ground
baskets next to our feet
fingers searching for the next berry
long hours in the sun
basket after basket
filled with summer
filled with toil
filled with communion
hands picking berries
backs bent in humility
fingers sticky
volunteered labor
we were not chained
to the strawberry fields
like migrant workers
who picked for someone else
our berries were our own
carried back home
sliced and served
with the memories of the day
I would not find myself
in the fields again
a middle class child
full of middle class choice
full of a day spent
bending low
backs cramped and legs aching
picking strawberries
Pamela Olson, 12/30/08
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