Cotton Bees
by Robert Becker
Of course not every human would understand what bees are in this context.
The pilling of a cotton blanket whose tiny cotton balls produced timely by the soft nose they end up to next.
And with each loving rubbing the parents found countless joy.
As with each and every thumb to index finger the rubbings she used to deploy.
With index finger placed over her soft nose her bees she’d diligently pick
at her soft special blanket for years she’d be hard pressed to forget.
Addendum to Cotton Picking
by Robert Becker
After writing the previous poem
I was pained by the joy I experienced by my daughter’s picking cotton bees
and was reminded of the pains the nation’s slaves have endured
when forced to pick cotton until the master dropped the boy.
While the headmaster raped his mother
all apparently justifiable as part of the master’s plan
while generations of whites that follow
want to ban the deeds from books simply believing that they can.
Disgusting chapters in the history books
and because they personally didn’t perpetrate the deed
they don’t want their children to know their forefathers
achieved their family wealth at the expense of such egregious greed.
Let us not keep out of books the horrors, lynching
and murders that occurred at their expense
as southerners rally in denial, or worse, sadistic approval,
of all that was done while approving and defending a forefather defense.
So too has the white national Christian Church
become complicit and willingly to forgive and forget
the sanctity, justice and human dignity we’ve been taught
in favor of the greed, power and all they feel is their right to get.