Andrena Zawinski
Dreamers

A woman races dusty rows,
deposits bundles of butter lettuce
from the bowls of her arms
into white plastic bins roadside.

Past the burn scar scorched
into the horizon in the thick air
of another fire season,
a small breath of wind kisses

her face silkened in sweat,
cooling down her body
as temples pulse, nose burns,
throat tightens at day’s end

with the ache of the field
pulsing every muscle
as crows eye new seeds
in furrows thirsting for water.

At home her little girl waits
at the open window for her,
elbows at the sill, hands cupping chin,
her wide eyes pitched upward

past the cresting sun toward a sky
waiting to darken then fill
the page of night she reads
as stars full of wishes and dreams.