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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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