REAPING THE BARLEY

On a bull's hollow horn
Juan blew the message that the barley was ready.

In their clay huts
the seven families
poured the sun-juice
into brown jars.

The hill squatted in'the field
wrapped in a plaid poncho.

Red, green, yellow dresses
began to climb the road.

Amid a riot of colours
the glowing barley sheaves went down with a swish,
decimated by the sickles.

Tomasa weighed the ripeness of the sky
in the scales of her sunflower arms.

The slow swing of the field
molded the shape of her waist.

Men and women of the seven families,
seated in the tender noon-day gold,
drank sun-juice
from the clay jars.