we gather on the porch at duskready to shell the peas we picked
settling into creaking rockers and
scooping handfuls of slender goodness into piles
on the newspaper-covered table before us
we set about our sacred task
with four heads bowed low
over white enamel bowls trimmed in red
the gentle murmur of pleasant conversation
mingles with the steady thrum of the oscillating fan
creating a sound
like prayers at evensong
and we instinctively begin to slowly roll
each tiny green orb
through experienced fingers
