Mary's Children (I) Poem by James Mullaney

A bleak, mildewed sump cellar just permits
the girl to breathe. It's late: men will come soon.
A casement high above her bed emits
a sallow luster, pale as Hades' noon.
They promised her work: housekeeping, sewing.
Her own papa arranged it. Ten pesos
and a pint of 151. Knowing
She'd try to escape, they dosed her a dose
Of barbiturates here in Jackson Heights -
beat her, raped her, tried to induce despair.
Cursed, dismal dungeon, where she recites
her brokenhearted, broken English prayer:

'Guadalupe! I nothing have to lose.
'I far from you. Sincerely, Anna Cruz.'