Poetry

I am The Grape Picker’s Daughter

Poetic memoir

Rose CG
The Grape Picker’s Daughter
3 min readJun 7, 2022

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Watercolor image of a young girl in a grape field.
Rose CG

Daddy lost his job, and we lost our home. We pack our belongings into our station wagon in the back alley. In the night’s quiet, we move across town into Grandma’s small back bedroom. It’s the summer my daddy lost the tip of his finger working at the old brickyard that is near the spooky graveyards.

I’m ten and it’s early one summer morning.
I smell fresh tortillas, beans, and coffee from grandma’s kitchen. Mommy says we need to use the bedroom window as a door. Five little girls make too much noise, so we have to crawl out the window to play in the backyard.

We not only lost our home, but we lost our bathroom too. The gray wooden outhouse that leans to one side in Grandma’s backyard is our bathroom now. We need to go two at a time to check for spiders and to help each other on the seat so we don’t fall in. It smells like something died and we have to cover our noses.

Daddy can’t work and stays in a bed in the backyard under a blanket tent. The night before, Mommy said she will go pick grapes in the morning to get some money for food. I tell her I want to go too. I’m a big girl, even if I’m just ten. My big sister Sissy is eleven. She can help daddy with our little sisters.

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Rose CG
The Grape Picker’s Daughter

Rose C. G. is a poet, artist, storyteller, teacher and dreamer. Work is © Rose CG. (My posts may contain affiliate links, I may earn a commission.)