Flies, dust, the
cotton pickers are
children and they
see white in the
sun, their faces,
everywhere, on
their bare feet,
the long stretch
of the bags, the
dog watching for
rattlesnakes, a
Gila monster, in
the salt of their
sweat, and in the
clouds. They see
water in the rain
that doesn't fall,
a mirage, in a
mason jar in the
shade, a cactus,
and in the cotton
that will pay for
their new shoes,
a new dress, the
rent, food, and
a chance for the
cotton pickers to
go back to school.
|