Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
Goodness to Its Own Reward
And what do you get for it but a pile of bones?
A good woman goes to work every day
in the killing fields,
lies down on the killing floor
and takes it
like a good woman should. She lets out a holler
that slices the moon into wedges of pie.
She been the best she could
and what's she got to show for it?
A mirror of waters wiped clean of her image,
tears for a tricked offspring
trickled into the earth.
And she has to take it.
But she talks back.
Written by Angela Jackson
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