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Small Hands, Nimble Fingers
Small hands
move quickly about
over shards of glass,
sharp prickly needles,
and lead.
They dance and leap
in forced urgencies
slipping shark fins into bags
and apples into baskets.
Nimble fingers
run across delicate hemlines
and durable belt loops.
I wonder how
things can be sold for so cheap.
Fair trade is fare paid
for traffickers
and traders
and purveyors
who idle
and lurk
and prey
upon the families,
offering up hope
for a few dollars
and the promise of
a better life.
Small sharp eyes
pull shells
from the seashore.
Backs bronzed
and broken.
Fingers cut
and bleeding.
Calloused as a
bricklayer's.
How much do we pay
for such things?
How much
attention do we pay
when the celebrity spokesperson
moves on
to another cause?
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Comment by: - 2007-06-10 15:51
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| It's a tough life, Matthew. I'm a native Californian and worked with many of the ones I think you write of. I wonder if you've thought of writing this in short story format? Maybe even essay? You have a good handle on the talking points; just wonder about a different presentation. Good read. |
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This was a teriffic review. This is the type of stuff I'm looking for -recommendations for making my work better. I will definitely consider your suggestions and appreciate your review.
Regards,
Matthew |
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wow, this is fantastic, i wish more people addressed such issues in thier poetry. love the ending and the repetition. my only criticism would be the second line, it doesnt need the 'about', i think 'move quickly/ over' would work better.
Also if you absolutely must use the word needles, do so later in the poem, because its one of those words that poets should never use... its such a cliche.
like the line about wondering how things are sold for so cheap... not sure what you mean about shark fins into bags, apples into baskets? |
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