The Cutters

The old woman stood in the tamarind’s shade
Bermuda grass bristling her bare feet
her head tied like her hands
akimbo, mouth snarled in command
madras wrapped, dough under her fingernails
her spattered apron clung to her stomach.

Two hired men bent in the heat
fired bronze backs strained, spun,
stretched, their cutlasses swung
and grass, branches, leaves leapt up
over their heads amidst the flamboyant
and balisier, frangipani and oleander.

2009