by Dena Rash Guzman
All day I consort with the earth.
tobacco pouch, rolling papers, light.
Without constance there’d be chaos.
I get paid today.
I’m not a woman without pain.
No woman is. Pain is history,
Today’s blood on tomorrow’s
My house is gray. My soil is rich.
The soldiers advance. I carry ammo.
I know where to hide.
I see the news.
I consult the forest.