Worker Child

---

She is washing the pots,
Brushing her dark girl curls away
From her eyes, a darker black.

They are adult eyes that
will not cry; she
is the stronger of the two,
she knows,
scrubbing muddy water
to slosh on the pots.

Her mother powders her cheeks red,
swearing and weary-
the girl is quiet.

A/N: Just a quick little "poemette" I thought about after watching a documentary (Born into Brothels). And no, it does not do the actual film justice. So watch it.