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Work of Art

Rural life held hands with nature

alone on its own plot of secret plans

like how my grandma's bare feet plodded

across the exposed sharecropper's field.

Seasons anointed her skin a regal patina

so rich undernourished minds were unable to grasp

feet that embodied volumes of oral history;

ankles of varicose veins written in scriptures,

a legend of toes curled into roots

tapping into six decades of fertile soil:


her will done what it ought

with the sanctity of an altar, a temple

that bowed men's heart,

broad nose, curvy hips

arms as strong as her heart

extended like a candelabrum

that balance children and burlap sacks,

braided maps underneath a bandana

that held too many secrets

black clouds and grey thunderbolts

a quiet storm stirs.

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