Kevin Minh Allen


the child's cheeks red from crying
streaked from the confusion of miles traveled

wrinkled documents fold hands closed
bend them open again

border official is suspicious
suitcase a bit too heavy

empty out books, coins and hope's worn dishes
framed photos they hold onto, rescue

husband whispers sternly,
"forget the jewelry, the children can eat without it."

Lantern Review: A Journal of Asian American Poetry
Issue 1 | June 2010 | pp 21