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:
plowing,planting,harvesting,cooking,preserving
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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