This is from one of the first classes I took while trying to learn to write. The writing is modeled from Lucille Clifton’s poem – Miss Rosie.
Mom
When I watch you
Life no better than a machine
Laboring, moving piles
Of filthy clothes
Or
When I watch you
Trapped, in a room
With endless laundry
To wash, dry, and fold
Your waiting, to be discarded like an old rag
I say
When I watch you
You worn, tired, wrinkled woman
Who dreamed of a better life
And were unable to catch it
I march
Past your despair
I march
