sometimes i want to be so tired

today

the air is warm with life and pulses with the fresh breath of spring

the sun

pushed up by the night

warms the earth and my bare skin

and i find myself jealous of those Men

from 1930’s america

who worked the fields for their lives for their water for their bread

because sometimes i want that life

 that quiet desperation

that simplicity of exertion

sometimes i want to be so tired that nothing else matters

just the field and the rough food on my plate and the burlap mattress beneath me

as crickets chirp in dark corners of the bunk house and i massage the calluses on my palms while my sweetly tired eyes close and the sun pushes up the night.

 

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