Julia’s hands tell a story, 

 all cut up and bruised-

paint a sad picture of painful loss-

no pain, no gain, no glory.

Julia a young teen,

 been working those hands

since her mama died at eighteen.

 She took over a grown up’s work load

when tragedy hit their lowly abode.

Julia sent away to labor in far away lands.

Her hands never wore any rings.

Not once did she ever paint her nails,

 no time  for self adornment;

always outside carrying heavily filled pails.

She  looks at girls her age, in sheer wonderment;

pretty dresses, perfumed locks, perfectly painted nails.

Does Julia cry,”Why me? Why me?” ever?

No, this young girl knows that alas,

her lot in life is for now, certainly not forever.

Eva Santiago Copyright 2011