Nicaraguan Coffee

Nicaraguan Coffee

By Emma Redden
Leland and Gray Union High School, Grade 10

The sun sits high in the hazy sky, tanning your strong back below.
You are a farmer, a true definition of the six letter word.
You live in a home made of cinder blocks, packed mud.
You are lucky, your house is more than bound sticks.
At least concrete isn’t blown down in the winter rains.
It crumbles, but only as slowly as you do.
Your earthen walls enclose a home,
Filled with stuffed burlap sacks,
Second hand clothes, and uncomfortable beds.
At least your babies are nearby when they whimper in the night.
The outdoor bathroom is a simple relief from the
Stuffy stale air of indoors.
A black tarp surrounds a cavern in the ground
To dispose of human waste.
Over the makeshift bathroom
Stand trees, tall and proud.
They are your bread and butter,
Pan y mantequilla.
The lofty tree stands with dignity
Being sole shelter, refuge, protection
For the coffee plant below.
The bananas are still green
The coffee is still red.
Your hands and your back are still tired.
You never stop working and
Yet it still seems never to be enough.
The incredible beauty of the land
Is so harshly contrasted by the
Poverty of your life.
It is as if you were tricked,
Placed in such an idealistic landscape,
With such a demanding daily routine.
Sometimes it seems like it’s an unfair game
And sometimes it seems a gift.
Days are long
Bodies are aching
Eyes are sore
And money is so fragile
The smallest movement could
Break apart the vase of your finances.
But at least you are given the gift
Of spending those long days
In a land painted by an angelic hand.
You are a Nicaraguan farmer.