Long hours, low light
The one-bedroom cold-water walk-up
In the lower east side
They work around the kitchen table
Nimble fingers assemble fake flowers
Hunched backs, strained eyes
To get the flowers just right
None speak English but the oldest boy
Ten years old, assembling flowers
It is not what he bargained for
It is not what his father expected
Of the new world.
No comments:
Post a Comment