Arna Bontemps imagines a Black farmer looking back on a lifetime of planting. He has sown generously, even fearfully, across vast distances, yet all he can show is what one hand holds. The abundance he created has gone to his brother’s sons, while his own children are left to glean in fields they did not plant and taste only bitter fruit. The speaker feels cheated and weary, but he states the injustice quietly, with a sadness that carries more weight than rage. The poem creates a mood of mournful frustration—steady, biblical, and heavy with generational loss. The harvest becomes a quiet metaphor for how Black labor has enriched others while Black families inherit poverty and struggle.
A Black Man Talks of Reaping — Summary
I have sown beside all waters in my day. I planted deep, within my heart the fear That wind or fowl would take the grain away. I planted safe against this stark, lean year.
I scattered seed enough to plant the land In rows from Canada to Mexico But for my reaping only what the hand Can hold at once is all that I can show.
Yet what I sowed and what the orchard yields My brother’s sons are gathering stalk and root, Small wonder then my children glean in fields They have not sown, and feed on bitter fruit.