from previous issues of Southlight
Cutting Fodder in AfghanistanButterfly bright, in riotous rose-patterned frocks, hunkered down all afternoon, amongst milk-white clover, purple vetch and pink shaftal – with its heady, sugar-almond scent – three women, with careless rhythmic ease slice swathes of fodder.
Voices drifting on pollen-laden air dissect their world’s events – will Miriam’s baby be here for Eid? the calf born last week, crickets eating Moosa’s wheat, and who caused Basma to hide her smile, yesterday at the well?
Sweat runs ignored down dirt-streaked faces, arms ache for rest but no one stops till heavy creels flow over. Each helps the other hoist her load, rise to her feet. They move away spines straight, shoulders back – reluctant queens – heads forced high by leather straps.
Mary Smith in Southlight 12
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