hay for the children

Hay-Bales

eight in the morning—

i carry hay in my backpack,

& walk into my classroom.

 

this is yet another day,

& the children have been hungry

since the break of dawn.

 

like grasshoppers

cracking in the weeds,

they cry for their breakfast—

 

plates full of hay,

wet in the morning dampness,

green & not too coarse,

 

with plant heads & leaves

as well as stems—

newly baled alfalfa.

 

they chew it mechanically,

& look at me with

contended eyes.

 

i know it will take time,

but they will digest the hay,

& lie down at rest,

 

snoring softly, their hay bellies

going up & down,

while i go to feed another class,

 

carrying more hay in my backpack,

& less wisdom in my mind.

 

Twitter @bibek_writes

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