Salt of the City – A Haibun

They were mostly tall, thin, and dark skinned like the softest black velvet. Their clothes hung on them. Their feet in flip-flops covered with dust. Yet their voices were strong, offering their wares in accented English – mini Eiffel towers, larger Eiffel towers, ones that light up as if it were covered with fireflies, ones that were staid. Their bodies seemed strong, carrying large sacks of these trinkets to different parts of the park. The odor of their sweat was strong, evidence of their hard work in the heat.

They stood out among the tourists – they were there working, laboring under the sun – while we were there for fun, our choice to stand in lines under the sun.

Maybe they arrived in this city with a degree or some other skills; definitely they arrived with hope. Yet their labor in the City of Lights seemed to diminish the light in their own eyes.

Summer’s salty sweat

Seasons the immigrant’s work

Hope masks bitterness

This haibun was inspired by two prompts: Frank at D’Verse for Haibun Monday requested a Haibun inspired by labor, workers in honor of Labor Day and Jamie at The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt requested poems inspired by a city. (Responses to Jamie’s Prompt can be found here.)

When we visited Paris this summer, I was surprised by how much the area around the Eiffel Tower has changed. The area was surrounded by a see-through barrier. You had to go through security before you could even get close to the tower. This was much different than when I visited the tower in early 2001.

I also noticed the men (they were all men) who were clearly immigrants to Paris selling souvenirs. I don’t remember them on my last trip there. But it made me wonder about them, their stories, if they were selling souvenirs of their own accord, if they had families, if they had ever gone up to the top of the tower they were selling miniatures of.

I always wonder if workers who sell from blankets on street corners might be trafficking victims and that by buying these wares, I am complicit in this modern day slavery. I know these men were working hard – it was evident in their hands and feet, their eyes. When is this type of labor honored?

©️ iido 2019

12 thoughts on “Salt of the City – A Haibun

  1. I feel you Irma…i too have wondered many times like you about these immigrant workers. Whenever we visit a particular country, i met a lot Filipino migrant workers; some actually doesnt have legal documents to work with and for some (which my heart really sank) were degree holders back in the Philippines but working as helpers, all for the love of family. They have to swallow their priide. And yet here we are coming their on our own terms and having the best of our lives…

    It has always been my wish that every government should provide descent paying jobs for their own citizen so that they wont be compelled to leave theie homelands and families.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Will you go With me, to Paris? – michnavs

    • Hi Mich! Thank you so much this! I am just catching up on WP and seeing this was like a hug from far away. Your love poem captures how love should remain steadfast through the sensual loving parts as well as the struggling parts. I would go with you to Paris any day! ❤


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