One foot in front of the other,

I adjust my sari,
 

Glancing down at my bare feet,

 

The ground moist and hard,

The pitcher balanced precariously,

Atop my head,

The sun is starting to set.

 

When I reach home,

It will be dark,

Mother will have a pot of chai,

Waiting for me before bed.

 

The cattle will drink,

Dinner will be cooked,

Before I am ready to make the next trek.

 

4 miles,

3 times a day,

It could be worse,

My head hurts a bit,

I feel a pain in my back,

 

My ankle bracelet is covered in mud,

I see the outline of my village,

Soon it will be dusk.

 

And I will repeat the journey,

Again.

And again.