beside her unearthing

in the heavy country between
belonging to nowhere and clear off
pruned from the branch
a new moon and a stack of plates
rattle the night— even with these eyes
that could miss a whole future
scrubbing the dark, my hands delight
in the inconvenience
where we gather, wax from old candles
unsteadies our cups and mosquitoes sing
to our earrings while we eat
hard undoing says the woman who tends
the garden— she is glad to loosen
from the grip of what some have begun
to call progress
alfreda always wrist-deep beside her
unearthing what proves only ready now
we all commiserate about the water
-melon, too much shade makes
them never pinken
you can’t move the sun i say
when i find old seeds in a pocket
i try to listen, i weigh them in my hands
i taste for the past
the woman tells us watch tonight, close
the window she says
the rain will come thick
as milk