Cools me down
Sideways
I sit
On the red clay step
My afternoon spot
Back propped
On the white laundry door
I rest
Legs lazy sprawled
Nearly touching the stones
Ice on tongue
Old man says
Today is perfect
Plant vegetables if you may
A feast
The body and blood
His teachings say
A good harvest will come
Sow on Corpus Christi
Ice on tongue
It may be true
I want to please
Something to do
Lady next door
Her okra garden
3 inches already
Excites me
Ice on tongue
Early, long
I work
My one old shovel
It holds me
Good enough
A small bed in the corner
I tend, till
Remove the fertile grass
Open it up
Make canals, neighbor coaches
Over the fence
Ice on tongue
The thick mud tough dirt must thin
Rain fell late last night
A voice; she commands from the far banister
Mix in sand to soften the ground
That will help
I plant
Rows 1 2 3 seeds 2 3 4
Eggplant, tomato, beans, and more
Old man leans from the high porch
Beans in back, he shouts
They run the fence
Ice on tongue
I am a village
Hopeful, anticipating
A basket: colorful, crowded, full
Delicious provision
From our land, from my hands
We wait
Ice on tongue
Dirty brown nails
Achy joints
The sun dims
Happy at ease
I watch
Sticks in the ground
Mark the rows
Ice on tongue
Banana tree sway breeze
Clouds ahead
Means more rain
Seeds will sing
I think I almost hear them now
Growing in the mud sand dirt
Before my eyes
I am anxious
Ice on tongue
Body worn
I slouch
I should get up
Can't move though
I am tired, done
