Standing at a gate into the compound
a child waited until I saw her, but
she might not have wanted to be seen.
Her home was the Quonset hut, one
of many, for the field workers, here from
Mexico. She was shaded by the trees
but I saw her smile at me, the girl crouched
by the rain puddle, captured by the rim
of fool’s gold. I was late for school, breathing
in the wet turning of the earth into something
deep and magical. Tadpoles scattered
from my fingers, loosening rings that
spread across the surface. When she knew
I had seen her, she stepped forward, but
not past the gate. She asked her mother
if I could come into their home. She said yes,
after school, so I left, but not without
tortillas filled with honey. At Christmas
she made me earmuffs, knit inside
a spool. I did not have a gift for her.
I am grateful for the gift of knowing her.

-Rae Cobbs