We turn to dust

 

If I have so much, why do I feel so poor?

We live in this place because they do not let us live anywhere else � and then blame us for living as we do.

They call us greedy, and say we earn our livelihood in dirty professions, as if we could earn our keep in any other way.

I count coins at night because I have so few to count, and must squeeze what I can out of each, knowing I will be blamed for being cheap.

They hate us not merely for what we are, but also for our ability to survive.

Each time they take something from us, we manage, and so they take more until we have nothing left for them to take except what we cannot give up, and then they take that, too.

When they put us in ghettos, they thought we would act like rats and devour each other in such a small place. But we survived.

So then they put us in an even smaller place, and even smaller after that, and a place finally so small, we turn to dust.