“Major brands try to determine if cotton in their clothes is from Uighur forced labor in China”
(NBC News, September 2020)
Cloth covers a woman’s face so we
don’t see what the wind extracts in the fields.
She is designed to be infinite, as in:
our opposite. A routine of imagery
threaded through incarceration
and then redacted.
Her movements build thrill
into cotton. The treble bounce of her lives
crowding away from the window.
We feel her devotion: it is a dark river.
The sum of her muscles churning
into our garments. She sews them up
empty. The harvest. Our assurance
these products won’t be unmade.
