Though slave to him I plan to kill, From here on in I mean to do the things I will. I mean to do my master still.

I’ll bow and scrape with grace. I’ll “Master” him As if I knew my place. But I will feign and learn what’s human; Know this thing that is a woman; Study how to hide my curse, But call it down with words far worse Than any I was ever taught, Till I have all I sought.

I will begin, this day, to be More powerful than he. Maybe I’ll know the word that he calls fear, And pour it like a poison in his ear. My schooling will begin today, Before he ends this sickly play Of love — whatever that may be — And what he calls forgiveness. Perhaps, some day beyond tomorrow, I’ll take up conning sorrow.