Granddaddy raised tobacco in red clay
his whole life long – row by row –
until he got too old to continue –
life must have been unkind –
year end, year out, hoping, praying
for good weather, and rain, and fair prices.
Grandma cleaned the white folks house,
did their laundry, raised their children.
That couldn’t have been much fun either –
she had her own children at home
to care for. Pop had long red hair
as a child, he told me, and thought
it was a celebration when the house
burned down one cold winter morning.