And she was there
At the brink of the water
Washing utensils
Humming a song
Incoherent and in a low voice
And she gathers
The shining utensils into
A plastic tub
And holds it at her waist
And she stands on the stairs
Watching the sun going down
No one is there who can lift
The tub and take it inside
It is hard work for a housemaid
Reaching her seventy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem