We start the day
with a meal of our farm’s best fruit.
Mangoes,
spilling
their tangy insides
when Leila and I
bury our noses and teeth
to slurp at their pillowy middles.
Ya—it is a good morning.
After we eat, Dando and Old Anwar
go to the far fields.
Their bodies paint blue silhouettes against dawn’s tawny drape.