The Flower GirlCalloused hands with pinkish palms and dark black on the back scrabbled in the dirt; one of those hands the left finally got a firm grasp on the long green shoot that was the stem. The act was not satisfying as the hand was pierced by the little brown thorns that protected the flower from being touched. The hands was used to such mistreatment however and did not let go, its sister the right hand retreated into the folds of an apron and retrieved a small plier caked in mud and dulled from overuse. The right hand positioned the pliers and squeezed, and squeezed with as much strength as it could muster until finally there was a snap and the left hand came up from the ground still clutching her prize.
The left hand quickly placed the flower in a worn sack that sat next to a pair of feet, naked and coarse from walking without protection. The right returned the plier to the stained aprons folds and then the paused. A face wrinkled and worn like its hands and feet –from too much sun and