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Friday, April 26, 2013

An immigrant journey



Packing the bags was okay;
Just lots of bags and lots of stuff
And a last night sleeping on mattresses on the floor.

Packing was van was okay;
We watched the guys pile everything in;
Sons decided they’d never move house or change schools anymore.

Packing for the flight was okay;
Everyone held their own case, even the kids
And everyone cried.

Waving goodbye was okay
If you ignore my clinging to son who tried hard
To be left behind and I couldn’t look in my mother’s eyes.

The flight was okay
Except one boy lay on the floor and screamed
Till I picked him up while the catering cart went by.

Immigration was okay
With three boys trying to silently say
We’re not staying long when we knew it was meant to be forever.

The house was okay
But not our house our furniture and not our neighborhood
Nor our spiders either and this one had a red spot.

But that was okay;
We slept on mattresses in real beds
Till the sons rebelled and slept on the floor

Which was okay by me.

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