She sings to her newborn daughter
her notes touch the sky.
she washes her in a white tin pan
and pours over her a medicinal water that looks like tea.
she sits in the hot cooking hut
and sweats and sings.
she's worked and washed and
cooked and cleaned since sunrise-
yet she still finds her song.
Her joy within rises out,
transforming hardship to another plane
and celebrating life -
I hope her daughter remembers.
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