GERANIUM

Barelegged, roped
brow, filthy towel wrapped round
tucked in at the waist

Down shoulders and chest
sand spills. A brim-full basket
hangs back

with the weight
of it. Thickened soles sunk in
push out and up

along rock-strewn paths,
into fields ringed with concrete frames
Cornered there, bedded down

round kerosene stoves,
as if camped out at the station
waiting for a train

to take them before dawn,
families settle in.
Climbing walls of sky

these raised platforms are home
In a clay pot up there
claiming the open girded floors

as theirs, midst
dust rising into the night
from the work site

piled bricks and sand,
in the shaggy moonlight
a geranium blooms

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