Welcome friends...thanks for coming by. We're seeking beauty in all of creation... in our faith and our families; our art and our music; our crafts and kitchens, and even in our own backyard. We'll share a poem or a recipe, a picture or a memory; maybe a dream of how we wish our life could be. And though we acknowledge that the world can be harsh, we're keeping it pleasant in our little corner; endeavoring to keep the words from the Book of all Books: ...Whatsoever things are lovely; think on these things.

I so enjoy hearing from you...so leave me a comment; it'll make my day!

Photo: Bee and thistle: Taken high in the Cascade Mountains where there is a bee buzzing on every thistle. by Debora Rorvig

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Someday..... Magpie Tales #52

Dear Readers,
Magpie Tales is a host site that helps aspiring writers work at their craft. Every week we are given a photograph and instructed to write a poem or short vignette using the picture featured in this post as our inspiration.  

My poem is dedicated to a little girl named Yesenia. She is a real person. We met one summer when I volunteered in a school for the children of migrant workers. She was 6 years old with tender dark eyes, thick raven-colored hair, and a warm smile to melt your heart. The school was to be run for several weeks; and on the last day we planned to have a big celebration with lots of good food and a brand new book for every child. They were all so excited! Can you imagine how little a migrant child gets to take along when she travels from town to town? But a brand new book; well it could be stashed into a bag without taking much space; and could be read over and over on the long boring rides to who knows where!  But the day before our celebration, Ysenia whispered in my ear that she would not be there tomorrow. Her family was leaving tonight; going to another camp, another field. My heart ached for her. She would not get the book and the food, and the 'class' picture. I  just wanted to take her into my arms and run to the parking lot-to whisk her away from this itinerant life-to give her a house with an address of her own. But I didn't. I gave her a hug and a smile and I told her goodbye..then went home and wept.  Every time I drive past the migrant camp where Ysenia onced lived, I think about her and hope that Someday...


My name is Yesenia.
I pick your fruit; my family and I.
We live at the camp
near the raspberry fields
somewhere in Washington state, I think.
Next month we will live
at a camp
near the orchards; or melons; or beans
in Texas or Florida, or was it Tennessee?
It's hard to remember just where I live
or where I am from.
I only know that
I will live in a house
with a bedroom upstairs
where my sister and I will play with a new Barbie
instead of the one from Goodwill
whos hair is tangled and hard to brush.
There will be a chimney with smoke
and a warm kitchen with food
and mama will sing
as she makes our tortillas.
we will have a little patch of green grass
and a tree with a squirrel.
in the winter-
instead of following
the sun and the crops
we will stay in our house
and then I will finally
get to see snow at Christmastime.

by Debora Rorvig


Doctor FTSE said...

This is so touching and sad. ANd isn't it deplorable that our food economy depends so heavily on folk like Yesenia and her family.

Judy Roney said...

This poem is touching and so true to life. I know because here in Florida we have many Yesenia's. Beautifully done.http://judyidliketosay.blogspot.com/2011/02/my-grandparents-live-in-elongated.html

thingy said...

Oh, gosh, this is heartbreaking.

I feel for these people. Sometimes they seem to be the invisible travelers, yet, we literally could not live without them.

Thank-you, Debora. This was so poignant.

Emily Young said...

Yesenia sounds like a wonderful little girl, and you told her story so well. Your repetition of the word someday lends a beautiful yearning to this poem. I especially like the line, "Someday.../There will be a chimney with smoke/and a warm kitchen with food/and mama will sing/as she makes our tortillas."

Gerry (Strummed Words) said...

Lovely poem and sentiments.


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