The Plow Of My Papa Poem by RIC BASTASA

today is the last day to sell the plow of my papa
it is a necessary part of his lifetime
in fact
his lifetime is the plow itself that made the lines
of his own poetry in the fields
of rice and corn
today another man shall have it
at the price we all wanted
we have sold all that he had
the land, the house, the trees he planted
when he was still alive
when he was still strong and cruel and so imposing

this is his only plow
and we have dedided to dispose it finally
to any man

we are now at the stage of reconstructing our lives
and the plow of papa must go

we shall have our own fields now of rice and corn
on a white canvass we draw

the new sun, its color shall be warm, something new really
to the feel of our skins

the darker ones shall be replaced by the flowing color
of the clouds like feathers of birds always ready to fly away