Delta Highway:
There were revelations
That filled the miles.
The empty cotton fields
That were fried between 5-9.
They were growing near roads
Calling beat the clock
Beat the clock
that greedy clock.
But those cars never did stop.
America was news in Jackson, unbless you.
The Delta lived old,
As far as, to live.
Poem by Greta Bellamacina
images by Tom Hines
styled by Jaclyn Bethany
