Member Poem

I

striking earth once
and again
again
planting corn
to make the sadza -
nice and full
like those simmering clouds
coming closer

II

gynaeceum hours
with the others
spinning, stirring, laughing
never ceasing 
talking, never speaking -
only for that time
to coyly consume
bread of her labour

III

a golden queen
of gleaners
harvesting
fields of equal colour
sheaves of wheat
her ruling scepter -
that her people and she
may eat

IV

crackling wrapper
at her touch
and longing gaze
"6 All Butter Croissants"
absent-minded fixing
of cheaply dyed hair -
near-empty trolley
push it on