Cotton Pickin' Pickin' Cotton

 

 

 

Cotton Pickin’ Pickin’ Cotton’ers

 

Shhhh do you hear it?

It’s the sound of arthritic bones being laid to rest.

The sound of the last of the cotton pickin’ pickin’ cotton’ers

A generation that survived what we have not the fortitude to bare.

It’s the sound of the knuckle crackin’ aching backin’ niggers

that pulled pushed and plowed from sun up to sun down.

It’s the sound of rest from a time that has bought you here.

Look do you see it?

It’s another funeral for the last of the share croppin’

Bag weighin’

I only got a 5^th grade education

Cotton pickin' pickin’ cotton black folk who’s hand

Touched the very cotton that you wear.

But never got money for the hours of wear and tear.

Can you hear it?

It’s the last breath of air that our

Cotton pickin’ pickin’ cotton’ers  are getting to draw

From times long past

From the invention of the ice chest to the internet

From catchin’ the chicken to microwave chicken dinners

From the Juke Joint to concerts

from oil lamps to electricity

from 45’s and Lp’s to CD’s

Watch do you see it?

It’s the last of the cotton pickin’ pickin’ cottoners

Who’s bones now stick up from the ground

Showing even in death there is still work to do.

Shhhh do you hear it?

It’s the tears of the cotton pickin’ pickin’cottoners

Daughter’s sons and grandchildren

Crying for the souls of those who have experienced real tragedy

Like the great depression

 the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, and racial inequality

But who really thought they’d ever get to see a black man win the presidency.

Shhh do you know it?

That we are watching the end of a group of cotton pickin’ pickin’ cottoner’s

Who stood up for what they believed in

Fought for your rights

So you wouldn’t know what it’s like to go to the black’s only bathroom

Then, think, Really realize it

What one day the next generation is going to say about you.

 

 

 

By Annetta Walker

July 29, 2009