Class of 2011

In June, in the tobacco fields of my youth,
the strongest one, my mom, would keep hoeing
the longest row
never upending the curved spine
till the edge of the line and back to the next one,
seeding in my young mind
the constancy of effort
that birthing must achieve,
that rounding the circle
is the absolute endeavor of creation.

Breathless, I arrive yet again,
in the longest days of the year
and another school year comes to an end
and young lives have plowed new earth into their own circles, rings of growth.

I inhale deep the headiness of  graduation,
like nicotine that fixes the arc of tobacco in my body
and my barren womb that cradled a child not
is cast again in the substitute mother role.
Another class is delivered to the world.


Maria Ling