A Sweet Labor
________________
My husband has tools
for digging potatoes
but I like to use my hands
_______________
Reaching down deep
into the musty dark soil
mounded up like swollen bellies
_______________
I feel around for the curve of their bodies
wiggle them loose like teeth
__________________
Born into my hand
without the sharp edge of a shovel
more than twins
more than quintuplets
_________________
I lay them out in a proud display
marvel at each one’s uniqueness
___________________
In piles along rows they dry in the sun
glow golden at dusk
____________________
Collected in buckets
they tumble and plunk
then settle together like a newborn litter
____________________
I rise like a mother
from squatting labor
with buckets swinging
brimming with harvest
I haul my new brood home
_____________________
~ Colleen Redman, written sometime in mid 1990’s and recently revised
More Open Link poems HERE.
September 5th, 2011 5:53 pm
I have never grown potatoes. I have no cellar to keep them in. Are you able to eat all of the harvest? What fun collecting the results of you work!
September 5th, 2011 6:07 pm
They are so fresh that they can last months without sprouting. With my best harvest, I once had potatoes last until early March, maybe those had few eyes but I picked them off or saved them to replant.
September 6th, 2011 8:01 am
Such a beautiful ode to potatoes!!!
September 6th, 2011 3:59 pm
Lovely angle you approach digging potatoes from. Your metaphors and working well for you
Warmest salad
Luke
September 6th, 2011 5:33 pm
Lovely writing and imagery–I feel almost cannibalistic now contemplating my mashed potatoes. You’ve perfectly described the feel of the actual process, put the reader’s hands into the dirt with yours, and made the feeling of satisfaction palpable. Fine poem.
September 6th, 2011 5:39 pm
Admit I hate potatoes, but wonderful job digging them up.
September 6th, 2011 7:33 pm
nice…when i garden i love to use my hands,,,there is something about putting your hands int he dirt that brings that act of creation alive…which is tied nicely in your close…the birthing of children…smiles.
September 6th, 2011 8:55 pm
I love this…using your hands…and the end so sweet.
September 6th, 2011 10:38 pm
This is so great using your hands for digging potatoes
http://gatelesspassage.com/2011/08/29/unsuspecting-creatures-of-the-night/
September 6th, 2011 11:57 pm
Your mother earth and the litter is such an apt and pleasing metaphor for this journey into the pleasure and satisfaction of growing and harvesting. This piece has an almost mythic quality to it and is exquisite in its honest simplicity. Quite an excellent piece. I loved it. Gay
September 7th, 2011 4:34 am
Fabulous– lovely and lyrical invention in the stunning similes– xxxj
September 7th, 2011 12:06 pm
aaaahh you make harvesting potatoes sound the most sensual experience…love to dig with my hands in the dirt as well…kinda keeps one grounded in a good way
September 7th, 2011 12:38 pm
Very nice. I’ll bet there is a wonderful, earthy smell to them, too. Thanks for this!
September 7th, 2011 3:15 pm
Like the way you’ve compared harvest or picking the ‘fruits of the earth’ to giving birth. 🙂 // Peter.
September 7th, 2011 3:57 pm
really clever …but it is all about nurturing ! I also love the feel of the earth ….thanks for sharing x
September 7th, 2011 4:07 pm
A piece well written, engaging – good work… mine is here: http://www.image-verse.com/clown
September 7th, 2011 5:03 pm
Love the feel of this poem – you can almost smell the dirt – great imagery
September 7th, 2011 6:34 pm
I want to kiss each and every one of your hand-dug potatoes.
I want to knit them little hats and rock them to sleep in my arms by the fire while I sip my raspberry tea! I might even slip a little cherry liquor into my tea, so enthralled with my rose-colored love for your brood.
I LOVE your poems. Or is it your poetic spirit I love? I guess we get the whole wonderful package with you!
September 7th, 2011 11:47 pm
so many rich images and metaphors. squatting, i got the motherly image though i couldn’t articulate it before you identified it. so beautifully done.
🙂
September 8th, 2011 2:43 pm
Colleen, while I’ve never grown my own potatoes, nor have I ever harvested any. You do describe this as a labour of love. Nice.
Pamela
September 9th, 2011 7:55 am
What a great poem and imagery!! I know you are Irish!! Dad would love it too!! xo
PS I Have a beautiful poem about potatoes that I sent to Dad. I will send it to later.
September 9th, 2011 4:42 pm
That is a the most beautiful description of digging the potatoes I have ever seen! How lovely this moment was…. I’m glad I came here……! I used a pitchfork back in the days when I grew potatoes…. but the truth is I was still on my knees with each and every one, tenderly brushing them off, twisting them between the palms of my hands like a nervous pitcher on the mound….. and i remember plunking them into the bucket…. Strange that 30 years would pass and I still hear the soft thud. Your poem is lovely…….