W.D. Ehrhart's "The Farmer" from Working Words

Poem by W.D. Ehrhart, Vietnam veteran, writer and high school teacher. This is included in "Working Words: Punching the Clock and Kicking Out the Jams" from Coffee House Press.

The Farmer

Each day I go into the fields
to see what is growing
and what remains to be done.
It is always the same thing: nothing
is growing; everything needs to be done.
Plow, harrow, disc, water, pray
till my bones ache and hands rub
blood-raw with honest labor—
all that grows is the slow
intransigent intensity of need.
I have sown my seed on soil
guaranteed by poverty to fail.
But I don't complain—except
to passersby who ask me why
I work such barren earth.
They would not understand me
if I stooped to lift a rock
and hold it like a child, or laughed,
or told them it is their poverty
I labor to relieve. For them,
I complain. A farmer of dreams
knows how to pretend. A farmer of dreams
knows what it means to be patient.
Each day I go into the fields.

This poem is currently published in Beautiful Wreckage, New & Selected Poems, Adastra Press, 1999 Copyright © 1984 by W. D. Ehrhart, The Outer Banks, Adastra Press, 1984