Working Tobacco
We learned to work tobacco
before we learned to kiss.
When we did learn to kiss,
there wasn’t enough time
we had to work the tobacco.
While dew was still wet
and the sun’s heat
burnt at morning fog
uncles
and fathers
and friends
gathered together
like they always had
for generations
to pull the tender plants
out of the loose soil.
Each one knew
what to do.
Some bent over
others squatted
some sat on wooden planks
like a make shift bench
laid across the tobacco bed.
They were careful
to place the plants
in burlap sacks
with roots pointed out.
Then
they stacked the sacks
so the setters
could pick them up
with ease
and feed the machine
as it clanked across the patch. I
t was hard work.
My job
most of the time
was to follow the setter
and reset bad plants
or fill in spots
where the setter’s rhythm
had been broken
and a gap left in the straight row.
With bare hands
I pushed back
black soil
soft and damp from disking.
From my burlap sack
still wet with dew
I set new plants.
I was careful
to keep the roots from clumping.
Then with the same soft soil
I would cover the roots
and pack the dirt down gently.
With a tin cup
dipped in a galvanized bucket
I gave them water.
By mid-day
my knees would be caked
with the black soil
my hands
would be cut and scratched
from bits of broken stone
and arrowheads
left by some ancient culture
and turned up from plowing.
Sometimes I would stop
look back down
the long furrowed row
of tender green plants
wilted from transplanting.
And I could tell the difference
between my work
and the work of the setters.
I learned the difference
between man
and machine.
It was hard work I could be proud of.
At night
in my bed
with dirt stained hands
and aching muscles
I could feel the rhythm
and hear the clank of the setter
moving across the field.
I could feel the earth give
beneath my knees
and smell the sweat
of afternoon heat.
As weariness gave way
to sleep
and gentle rain pinged
on the tin roof over my room
I dreamed.
I dreamed of kisses
and girls
and all the things
there wasn’t time for.
Tony Sexton
