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.