Freeimages.com/Son Tran
The following poem was written in honor of a dear friend who immigrated from Vietnam as an adult. It was her strength and the stories of her birthplace that inspired this work.
A delicate flower of my country I am not
I am up before the sun is beating down on wet clothes
Hungry children loathe to leave their warm beds
I shake them harshly
Disinclined groans and hidden faces thank me
Hot food and pungent spices in the sweaty kitchen
A store front
Wares to sew and sell
People wander by
I hurry in and out unnoticed under the vicious sun
No money
Two dollars for a day that never ends
My Husband comes home to rest
He complains his day is long
His tired feet must rest
My boys are hungry
This morning’s food has evaporated into the humid air
Dry clothes must be re-scrubbed
Drenched as they are now with sweat and fatigue
Tomorrow is already begun
And the sun has stolen my sleep
