Requiem de Madre

Here lies a poor woman
who died of exhaustion.
In her life, she could never
have her hands crossed.

From this valley of rags and soap
I go as I came,
with no luck other than obligation,
more payment than forgetfulness.

Hallelujah, I move to a home
where nothing gets dirty again.

No one will ask me for food
in my final resting place,
I won't have to iron or sew
like a convict.

Angels sing around
the eternal mop
and they exchange the dishcloth
for a crown.

Don't cry for this poor woman
because she is heading
to a home where there's no sweeping,
where there's no kitchen.

Hallelujah this poor woman
blessed,
she has nothing else to do
and she does nothing anymore.