The Stepdaughter
Hands cold and clammy
from all of the dishwater,
Hands wrinkled and raw
for she was the stepdaughter.
No way out that she could see.
No one seemed to care.
The others all laughed at her,
their hands soft and fair.
Knees scraped and scratchy
fom cleaning the floor,
Isn't that what stepdaughters do?
Isn't that what they're for?
No way out that she did know.
This was her plight.
The others all hated her.
She'd cry in the night.
Back sore and achy,
her stepfather's body lying.
No one helped her with him
as he lay there dying.
Eyes red from crying
she held his hand. He said
'I'm leaving all I have to you.
Let my will be read.'
Mind filled with memories
of all she had done,
The others all just stared at her
as she walked into the sun.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Added by Poetry Lover
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