THE WATER SHED

The fields was all I know 
Like watching the cotton and corn 
Translation for seedlings to production 
The fields was where I grow 

Early in the morning at the crack of dawn 
My mama and them
Hurried out the shacks 
To plant cotton and pluck corn

I know, I was there
Strapped in a piece of old faded sheet
To my mamas back
I can still smell that discomforting dust
Slowly moving through the air 

Biting flies and mosquitoes 
Nibbling at my feet
As the day slowly progress
From dew on the leaves in the fields 
To that slave driving heat

I learned the songs of redemption 
As mama and them
Would try to sing away their pain
In the faces of their oppressors
They withstood the summers heat
And the soaking rain

There were no schools for me to go
Learning to read and write 
Was against the law for colored people 
Punishment was the whip
That severed ones veins 
As your blood created a puddle 
And for days where it laid it stained

To the best of my recollection 
I looked forward to that time of day 
When the cowbell rings
And mama and me had five minutes 
Of water and rest
Under the water shed.

Wilford Barker.