My parents came here legally, she says.
They came on a plane, she says.
A shipwreck for your plane, then.
A waterlogged toy boat,
my child in the water for your child in the air,
one to drown and one to breathe.
I hold her up to the sky,
hoping God sees her
and sends me a guiding light,
the same one the child in the air has,
and takes her from me
as my legs seize,
and my face sinks.
My waterlogged child to the sky.
Asia Khatun
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