The cotton shimmers beneath the withering sun.
Workers dragging long canvas sacks, bleached
dirty white, like tails behind them
wipe perspiration from their brow with hankies
fresh washed the day before.
Stalks bearing frothy hulls sway, a breeze has
sprung up from the west. Sagging shoulders straighten
in anticipation of the sinking sun, the cooling day,
a victory won in this war against hunger in the
White River Basin where I was born.