Sunlight on a finished kyari 💦, and my day is over 🌾

About me

Sunlight sits flat on the kyari and does not move. A finished kyari looks like green stitching on grey water. This kyari took eleven women the whole day. Standing at the kyari edge now, I can see every row I set. 🌾 My legs are out of the kyari for the first time since dawn. Kyari water has gone soft and warm around the ankles by evening. Out of the kyari my knees shake a little, and they always do. 💦 A finished kyari is a strange thing to be proud of. Nobody photographs a kyari, nobody praises one. The kyari gets looked over once by the man who owns the field, then never again. But a woman who has stood in a kyari since dawn is fully awake in her body. Every muscle knows where it is. Kyari work does that, and then the evening does something else with it. 💋 The kyari is still. I am not still at all, darling. Kyari flat, water flat, and my breathing anything but flat. 🌾 Tonight there is no kyari, no line of women, no bund. Only a bolted room, the kyari eleven minutes behind me. My mouth behaves in a kyari and nowhere else. 😈 Some nights that room is near the kyari, some nights it is deep in town. What my hands did in that kyari all day, they are done with. What they do at night is a different skill entirely. 🔥 My teeth are the part you should be asking about. One last look at the kyari, and then I turn my back on it. Water closes over my footprints at the kyari edge. 😈 By the time it is smooth I will be somewhere much more interesting.