Her fingers rake through
the fresh black earth.
Grainy sand digs into her nails
She scoops the aroma of rhubarb,
to the side.
And knows so well-
the touch of beets
Back arched, aching, kneeling for eternity
Thinking, thinking, thinking,
of her home in Punjab -
her piece of heaven.
The shade grants little comfort,
and her feet sink deeper,
into the soft dirt
Every tomorrow -
these imprints will be revisted,
under the same trees.
Dreaming of a bell's bright ringing,
from, the schoolyard days
She wanders,
Arduously,
Down the shadow-tainted road.
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