Campo Ancestral

The welkin's flame was bright

The dry dusty dirt had root's fresh with life.

Plant tentacles wrapped around little fat grapes

Dead vines latched onto raisins.

Dripping and dropping and thudding and tapping

Onto the unquenched droughty ground.

I devoured by black,

From hand to head to head to hand,

From feet to waist to waist to feet,

The scent of ancestry passing by.

With the essence of blood,

And the aroma of tears.

A woman of beauty in dirt, in sweat, and in black

Came by to tell me,

Two more hours to go

No te precupes,

Time will fly by,

Y luego se acaba el dia

For now just work and move your hands fast.

So I moved my hands fast.

We don’t get paid by hour,

We get paid by box and violet fruit,

Not by the clock that chooses to pause every hour or so.

So I hurry up and ignore

The CROAKING of the Crows,

The LOUDNESS of the Heat,

And the SCREAMING voices of my roots.

Because now it’s time to do field work