The woman with the smallest foot wins the shoe
But I had wrung out wet rags until my hands bled
Red and blistered like so many buttonholes up and
Down my arms! Scrubbing and mopping and rinsing
And wiping for them to gripe that I’m a passive princess,
Waifish and wearing little more than a winding sheet.

They didn’t know that I carried the knowledge of you
In my mouth, like an abscess or an impacted tooth
Untouchable and tender with rot — mother,
Who would have bartered me if bargaining babies were
As easy as a swift swap or a head of lettuce to be let go!

They even called you my stepmother as if estrangement
Made it easier to stomach — but mother, I could not bleach
You from my blood. I could only do the dishes and dare to
Dream of a softer domesticity someplace quaint and clean
Where desire blotted out my birthright
And love enveloped me
Instinctively.