ON COTTON (thinking of South Carolina)

if you’ve ever stuck your

fingers in a cotton boll

you’d know

cotton don’t never

want to be picked

you’d know cotton

bites and nips at nailbeds

makes cuticles bitter

black cherries

and so i wonder

if my great-great-anyone

wept on line with sack in tow

maybe whispering a chant

of comraderie

of connection to the downy

for knowing what

it meant to be

picked and plucked

and ripped from home

twisted and tightened

and spun into yarn