Effie in the Cotton Fields - by Fabu

Mississippi sky is stretched out blue
in the glimpse before heading out
most times barefooted
tramping on chilly, dewy ground
to finally arrive at rows of ghostly fields.

No one sees dark turn light
except your hands become clearer
working the earth
the cotton bolls stick and cut your fingers
as you pull softness out from prickly hulls.

You can't get no red on the fluffy
so you suck your hurt fingers
while the other hand continues picking row after row
the boys pick cotton
while baby sister chops weeds.

Effie Florida Cunningham is in the fields
blackish curls tied up in a flour sack square
pastel limbs bent over chopping weeds
round growing cotton stalks
from seeds that elder brother Robert planted.

He planted cottonseeds shallow in worked over soil
to chop during months of growing then pick
and stuff tight in croaker sacks
before dragging King Cotton to be weighted
in exchange for writing on the family book

As she sweats and her back hurts
Effie is the fields dreaming
what Pa might buy her on store credit
iffin this year they don't owe more than they made
iffin this year.

Poem about my maternal grandmother Effie Florida Cunningham Partee.  
It received an Honorable Mention award for the William Stafford competition
by Rosebud Magazine.