Dear Mr. Brown, My name is Arya Shah. I am seventeen years old, and a senior at Troy High School. I stumbled upon your poem, "Labor", initially out of reluctancy to check-the-box on what I thought was a labor intensive English assignment. However, I quickly became so engrossed into the poem and I forgot about the trivial work I was pulling my hair out for just a few minutes ago. What I admire most about this poem is its ambiguity, and the unsettling atmosphere it leaves. While you begin ranting about "cuss[ing] cutting grass for women", and shift focus onto the women, I thought surely the poem would reveal a tender heart, or wholesome relationship with them that would romanticize the labor or at least blur its pain. But instead, it's so discomforting. Your force us readers to sit with the fact that "they're all dead" because it isn't only the labor that's painful, but also the love. I find that so hard to accept most times, and can't ...