GLADYS CARMAGNOLA
---------------
WAGES

Suddenly the hours
have turned to dust and water between my arms.
Isn't there some coin more just
than the one we get in wages?
Must one always grovel for a few moments
knowing the answer beforehand?

How is it that I'm not the owner of my voice?
Aren't the fingers of my hand mine?

If the words I pronounce are someone else's
whose are these lips
that speak up on my behalf,
that proclaim their helplessness?

If I am not owner of my own bones,
at least don't rob me of their rest.
And let me speak the truth

with these loyal, rented lips --
poor compensation
of the wretchedly small cent
for the availability required of us --
in a place most definitely mistaken.