peasant daughter

i'm tired of
not having what i
think i deserve
she said

in the kitchen
bent once again
from the hammer
blows

the tears dismissed
by the man who swung
as the ploy of one
with ulterior motives

words, like rain,
can raise up
the seedling
or tamp it down

carelessness together
with a heavy
hand will accomplish
its drowning

if the intent
is to bully the
weaker into
submission

but in time
any abused soil
will harden
never again to yield

the ignorant man
will misinterpret
the tears
of course

say she cries from guilt
and shame
for her self-inflicted
poverty

but if the peasant
daughter is guilty
of anything it's
of caring too much

she knows happiness
and contentment
come from
doing what she loves

that having little
is not the problem
but having hurt
- and been hurt often - is

the peasant daughter
asks for nothing and wants
nothing that comes
with acrid remonstration

she seeks only a fair
balance in her
dreaming: to give
and to receive in kind

that to those
she loves she nourishes
as one would
a valued perennial

and from that softness
she expects
their flowering
and therefore hers as well

she believes she deserves
that and not
what some might think
she claims to

for she seeks
nothing of material
value and sheds no
tears from lacking it

but what is that to a man
who invests all
his passion into meaningless work
that serves nothing but to harden him?

his ignorance and
callousness will rue the day
he sees his once-flower
uproot and be gone