She moves about with

Swollen thighs

And with small quick steps

She sighs quite often

Her lips pulled down

As if she had an inner

Disdain to those around her

Or perhaps to the life

She had to live

And a goal she’d missed

Having set with an eager



She talks continually

Has ready answers for almost

Everything one brings up

As table companions do


She falls into one’s conversation

With negative comments

As if her living in this country

That took her once in

Would be a pain

And not to her liking

As if the world owes her

Something more.

So much about integration

It never happens completely

But in stages

Depending on the person

Relying on one’s intelligence.

Perhaps the following generation

Will do it successfully.

This. How the world’s running.

Dis here.ereh siD




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