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Marching single-file
toward the rising sun,
we enter the battlefield;
the cotton patch.
Our mission: rescue
the nascent crop from
besieging cockle-burrs,
sawgrass and morning glories.
We wield our hoes like pikes;
slashing swaths through
the wretched weeds,
Until the victorious cotton
stands alone, free to
flaunt its niveous bolls
come autumn harvest.
© by Tom Hooker.
Used here with the author's permission.
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Tom Hooker was born and raised in North Mississippi, but he and his family have lived in Hendersonville, North Carolina since 1988. Tom has had short stories and poems published in a number of literary journals across the nation. His poem, “The Senses of You,” won the 2024 Mensa International Poetry Competition. Facilitator of the Blue Ridge Writers Group in Hendersonville since 2007, Tom is the author of a novel, Twenty-Five Angels, a novel co-authored with Gary Adler,The War Never Ends, and his
most recent, Year of the White Dog.
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CamilleBalla:
Interesting and very well-crafted poem. It adds its own texture to how I will look at cotton. Thank you.
Posted 08/29/2022 12:13 PM
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Wilda Morris:
Yes, "the wretched weeds"!!
Posted 08/29/2022 10:02 AM
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Lori Levy:
Ive never chopped cotton, but this poem makes me feel like Im there, chopping cotton.
Posted 08/29/2022 08:56 AM
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