Dragging her right foot
across the packed dirt floor
she makes her way to
stir her quarter-portion
of boiling cabbage.
Her ears ring with
the echo of water
constantly leaking
through rotted straw
of a too old and
poorly built thatch roof.
Baby’s cries of hunger
not ignored, tuned out
to prevent insanity.
Her only hope is
this bit of boiled cabbage
produces milk.

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