after “The Gleaners,” painting by Jean-François Millett, 1857
In my air-conditioned Camry I pass workers
seeped in sweat, hunched in trenches to lay power lines
deep in hollowed ground. It’s as though Millett’s gleaners
had returned, their bent backs leaning on a sorrow song
of long laboring days, gathering scraps to make an evening meal.
So much like my father’s shape kneeling in his garden
with spade and seeds to perfume our senses
in soft folds of petunias. And here on the beach, walkers
crouch for bits of sea glass, unbroken clam shells,
some ocean-glazed trophy worn in the shape of a heart.
Sea oats bend to wind, every wave curves to shore
like a child riding on her mother’s rounded shoulders.
What can you tell from a silhouette? Spirits stooped
or softly bowed to glean grace from the earth.
Joanne Durham is the author of To Drink from a Wider Bowl, winner of the Sinclair Poetry Prize (Evening Street Press 2022), and Chasing Justice, forthcoming from Shanti Arts 2026. Her many awards include the Miriam Chaiken Poetry Prize, the Poetry Society of Louisiana’s Poetry Prize, finalist for the Lascaux Poetry Prize, and multiple Pushcart nominations. Her poems appear in Poetry South, Vox Populi, Cold Mountain Review, The Nature of Our Times anthology, and dozens of other journals and anthologies. She lives on the North Carolina coast, where she teaches poetry workshops, co-hosts a monthly poetry reading, and walks on the beach daily. Visit her at https://www.joannedurham.com.
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