It is the sink of the afternoon
the children asleep or weary.
I have finished planting the tomatoes
in this brief sun after four days of rain
now there is brown earth under my fingernails
And sun full on my skin
with my head thick as honey
the tips of my fingers are stinging
from the rich earth
but more so from the lack of your body
I have been to this place before
where blood seething commanded
my fingers fresh from the earth
dream of plowing a furrow
whose name should be you.
Reprinted from The Selected Works of Audre Lorde. Copyright © 1970 by Audre Lorde. Used with permission of the publisher, W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. All rights reserved.