Ralph Pennel
Ralph Pennel is the author of A World Less Perfect for Dying In, published by Cervena Barva Press. Ralph’s writing has appeared in The Ocean State Review, The Iowa Review, Literary Hub, F(r)iction, Tarpaulin Sky, Elm Leaves Journal, Rain Taxi Review of Books and various other publications. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart, a Best of the Net Award, the Best Small Fictions Anthology, and he was twice a finalist for Somerville Poet Laureate. Ralph is a founding editor and the fiction editor for the online literary journal, Midway Journal. Find out more about the author at https://ralphpennel.com/.
GLEANING
The men keep their distance now.I am free to work without their
interruptions, though Imeasure the distance between us
with each swing of my bladebefore I bend to pick the fallen barley.
Today, my bushel grows heavyenough to rest on my hip.
It wasn’t long ago I would gatherthis much across a week.
Still, countless bundles left to dryline the furrows till field’s end.
These spikelets are fertile, charitable,the rachis unbending despite
the time of year—a profitable yield.
Soon, these fields will be bare,the wheat finally mature enough to harvest.
High heat rends loose soil, our labors,to dust.
We will grind what I can carry homeinto flour for cakes, the two of us.
interruptions, though Imeasure the distance between us
with each swing of my bladebefore I bend to pick the fallen barley.
Today, my bushel grows heavyenough to rest on my hip.
It wasn’t long ago I would gatherthis much across a week.
Still, countless bundles left to dryline the furrows till field’s end.
These spikelets are fertile, charitable,the rachis unbending despite
the time of year—a profitable yield.
Soon, these fields will be bare,the wheat finally mature enough to harvest.
High heat rends loose soil, our labors,to dust.
We will grind what I can carry homeinto flour for cakes, the two of us.
