Poem: Tobacco (nicotiana alata)

Nearly every summer for a decade
I watched tobacco being grown and harvested
Cut to air dry on stalks high in the rafters
Out in the old weathered gray tobacco barn
To cure and sweeten in the humid summer heat

Poem: Chesapeake Home

Old tobacco barns and fields of dust
Stories about how life used to be
Before they put the highway through the farm
I used to sit in that old white steeple church
The Enoch’s hands built and contemplate praying