I’d rather pick cotton than pick these blues for you
Rather pick cotton than pick these blues for you
My fingers crack and split, but my heart shouldn’t do that too
When you left me, baby, you broke off my right arm
When you left me, baby, you broke off my right arm
You made it hard for me to make it on the cotton farm
You can pick another man’s crop, but that’s no way to live
No, pickin another man’s crop is just no way to live
You picked me so clean, you got all I had to give
The only work I know is fillin up a cotton sack
Only work I know is fillin up a cotton sack
I can pick a lot of cotton, but not enough to bring you back
All these rows of cotton cover many a mile
These rows of cotton cover many a country mile
And the fields are just as white as my baby’s smile
She used to smile at me, but now she’s somewhere far away
Used to smile at me, now she’s somewhere far away
She said, Never again, but my heart says, Maybe some day
Phillip Matthew Calderwood (December 21, 1973? – January 12, 2011) was born and raised in Northern California. He received a BA in English and history from UC Berkeley and an MA in history from American University. His poems were published in several journals: Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Berkeley Text, The Broadkill Review, Chabot Review, Four and Twenty, Gargoyle, and Innisfree Poetry Journal. He lived with his wife in Rockville, MD, and worked in DC as an editor and content manager at Leadership Directories, Inc. until his early death from congenital heart failure at age 37.