Saving the Carrots

Quiet. It is early summer, late June,
the middle of the two weeks of orientation.
i am sitting in a dusty row,
picking the weeds from a row of carrots.
We're saving them.
Their tiny leaves barely stretch out from the ground,
the weeds around them crowd them and stop them from growing.
We're saving them.
I am sitting on the soft row.
I have given up squatting to save my jeans from becoming dirty.
I should be wearing shorts anyway.
A fine layer of dust has settled all over me.
My hands feel dry and sandy.
The sun overhead feels the strongest and hottest it's ever been.
My freshly burnt arms sting.
My bent head concentrates
On saving the carrots.
To my right, across the row, is Janelle.
She is easy to talk to.
Even though I hardly know her, we've talked non-stop until just this
moment.
We're almost done with the row.
The end of the afternoon draws near.

by V. L., Sudbury, MA