Indo-Guyanese Women Poets

Stanza 4

Your sons with their city faces
don’t know it at all
Don’t want to know it
Nor to understand
that you cannot cease
this communication with the smell
of the cow-dung at fore-day morning,
or the rustling wail
of yellow-green rice
or the security of
mud between your toes
or the sensual pouring
of paddy through your fingers.

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