Portrait of a Woman, Waiting

Inside the hut, she
cradles a winnow basket on her lap,
combing grains of rice for pebbles,
for husks. She watches waves
form round her fingers.
She is thinking of return;
she is thinking, soon.
Then she gathers some grains
in her hands, lets them go,
lets them rain from her palms.
The door behind her creaks
and she jolts to look—

but only the wind greets her.

Outside, the field is drowning
in the sun’s redness.
As if the field is bleeding
or perhaps, on fire.