Shadows In The Field
Hearts webbed in lace
souls carved from steel
toilers of earths face
shadows in the field,
bamboo bodies bending
rising in the wind
sand storms savage roaring
back and forth again,
like a ballet
in rapid fluid motion
dragging sacks of onions,
without much notion:
no fortune,
noon makes its entrance
onion fields bare,
mothers cradle infants
chorizo stings the air,
coffee brews
tortillas steam
children cry fatigue,
beans bubbling
sun’s shining
soreness in my knees,
countless sacks
of onions stand
lifeless on the barren land
staring only for a moment
in quiet lament
shadows in the fields.