This is Cristy's first attempt at writing anything for/about her mother. This was written on 09/15/02 and Cristy sent it to me back in December, 2002. Any feedback about Cristy's poem would be most appreciated. - poetheart 04/13/03
My mama chopped cotton, picked strawberries too.
In a field in California.
Living in a house on stilts.
Summers meant driving there, in one car.
Packed with tired children
Their sweaty arms and legs cooled from open windows.
The hum of the engine accompanying a crying baby's wail.
Driving for hours in the heat
With misery trailing right behind.
Stopping along the way for picnic lunches,
And a chance to walk and let the restlessness out.
“Just like the "‘Grapes of Wrath’.” She’d say.
Yeah, my mama chopped cotton once, picked strawberries too.
Her small brown hands helping in the only way they knew...
Cotton and strawberries in a field in California
Fifty summers ago.
Sleeping in a house on stilts.
by Cristy Ramirez