Cesar Chavez Migrant Workers Desertion

after a Rebecca Flores poem

You would be the land
and we would need no poetry,
your softness would be the hay under me.

I would lie quietly next to you
and hold the warmth of your body
or I would pick your cotton,

the rows and rows of cotton
still dark at daybreak.
Our migrant worker souls

work the land
even though we dwell in cities now
and like fighters we lead with the frontal lobe.

You would be the land
and we would need no poetry
and we would fool ourselves.