I Live In My Fields
Gerardo Pacheco
the reapers left
me for good
scythes hanging
from their shoulders
blades tucked
in their leather belts
tattered rags around
their calloused hands
old hats on top
of their white heads
oh, those bent, broken bodies
left me for good
no one works
my fields anymore
green & yellow grass
surround my aching bones
too much grass
to many grains