In dusky boots soiled by dusky mud,
a situation where it’s hard to tell
which is which, he stands heaving,
under an audacious, amber sun
pouring long, heaving heatwaves,
a sigh of gratitude to Allah
and the glimmering green and gold earth
whispers agreement with the crofter.
The crofter is ragged, not to care
about his trite pants, dusty shirt,
after a lot of tilling, burying,
cherishing and trying to not let it all fall,
is ready now for crop picking—
tens of thousands to cleave and prepare,
spick and span for the waiting trucks.
The sweat runs around and around his mouth
before becoming polka dots on his shirt
and the blonde wheat leaves pirouette
in the flush of warm wind. The day continues
to be itself with the buzz of insects
picking on the silent air, and his feet trudge on
as he has got tons to do before he leaves.
P.S. a hatted man with a spade and sickle
facing swathes of sweeping land reminds me
of Frost with wads of sheets and a pen in hand.
Anam Tariq
Anam Tariq writes from India. She holds an MA in English and is the author of the poetry collection A Leaf upon a Book (Leadstart, 2022). She writes and freelances as a copy editor for SeaGlass Literary. Her words exist in The Punch Magazine, nether Quarterly, Verse of Silence, EKL Review, The Chakkar, SeaGlass Literary, The Amazine, The Purposeful Mayonnaise, Lucky Jefferson, coalitionworks, and elsewhere. Other than writing, Anam can be found learning Arabic.
