On my hands and knees
I scrub endlessly,
blistering bruises
covering my palms,
droplets of sweat
on my forehead.
They push me now
ordering me about.
“Sweep the floor,
Bring my tea.”
and no “Thank you.”
One day they’ll stop,
they’ll see.
I am one of them
their own flesh and blood.
One day
it will be me
wearing
silver slippers.
