Smell of sugarcane and sweat
Rolls over fields for she curls
Sunburnt toes into the earth,
Gazing from the outside in
Through the kitchen window as her mother
Clutching a glass of sweet tea. She
Leans against the refrigerator,
Unaware of her stare. Like a photo
Of a photograph, she is just her age
When she birthed her. She comes from a long
Line of women with breasts larger than hers.
Sauntering through rows of aubergines,
Cherry-tomatoes she sucks
Sugarcane, wonders if the milk
Of her nipples could support a child.
Heat makes the amaranth
Odor of eggplants rise and she is
Overcome with the fragrance of this day,
The simple feat of stepping
Forward in this fertile soil.