Poem #26- Immigrant Mother
There are
Only so many
Things an
Immigrant
Mommy
Can do.
She can
Carry
Key Food
Grocery
Bags
In each hand
Full of
Refined
Sugar,
a gallon
Of milk,
white
Rice & white
Bread—
Food,
Stripped
Of all
It’s
Value…
You can
Call home
From
A
Phone-booth
With a
Stolen
Credit
Card
& say
Everything
Is all right,
While your
Children
Gather
About your
Knees.
When you
Are in
The silence
Of your
Brooklyn
room,
You
Can get
On both
Knees,
light
Colorful
Candles
To
Saints
& pray
that
they do
All you
Can’t like:
Give you
Strength,
Pay your
Bills &
Protect
You from
Your
husband.
You can
Load a
Washing
machine
With the tattered
Clothes of your
Family,
Make cow-
Heal soup
& dumplings
on
Sundays & make
That Orange
Juice
Stretch.
You can
Visit
Your
Children
Locked
Up
In
Their
Room &
Conduct
A stand-up
Routine in your
Worn-from-use
Night-gown,
large
Plastic
Rollers in your
Hair with no
Dentures & so
Cheer them up
(thank you
Mommy).
You can
Work as
Many as
2 jobs
& still find
time
to
teach your
child
how to
sew her own
doll clothes &
tell her
she can be
anything
she wants.
She can
Pick up
The day
Old rice her
Husband
Has thrown on
The floor &
Refuses to eat
Just like she
Picks
Up
The shattered
Pieces of her
Family.
She may not
Know how
To
Ride a
Bike, but
She can roll the dough
& Make
Bake,
Curry
Chicken,
Put toys
On layaway
& Rub
Her daughter’s
Back
As they sit
On a park
Bench,
Runaways,
From home,
Again.
She knows
How to usher
Her children
Police-escorted
Past
Neighbors & to
The apartments
Of friends& how
To never leave
Her husband.
But,
There is
Only so
Much
An Immigrant
Mother can do,
The others,
She must learn—like
How to take
A moment &
Stare herself
In her mirror
& Say,
I can only
Do
My best,
But I will
Try,
Until
I die,
To Do
Even
Better.
Copenhagen, 2007