It was your world and you
let me in
The fields replied to you

Your skin was dark from
years of the sun’s kiss
Your hands were scarred from
long days plowing tobacco

Your heart was full when I
asked to help in the barn
You let me draw on the
wooden beams

Your name was tattooed in
blue ink on your arm
sunken in and faded 

You pulled a wad from the
pouch of Red Man and I
said, “Papa, what did your
momma think when you did that?”

“I was one of ten kids, hun. She
didn’t even notice.”