When my 90-year-old dad died last, his last months of care were made possible by refugee and immigrant caregivers. This poem was inspired when I heard someone speak of the fact that people of non-western cultures are raised to revere elders and that it is an honor to care for them. I hope that America can come to, learn the incalculably beautiful contributions that immigrants and refugees make every day to improve awe of our lives…
Children Borne Agin – Owed to Refugee/Immigrant Caregivers
“A daughter, unknown to me, came to, care for me, in my owed age, awe due to the travailing, a cross, the earth.”
A cross
This plan it
Its children
Flee their homes
And the vary borders
Which helled them
Too land in anew land
As stitch to gather
As much as they kin
They’re broke in hommes
Cared aweigh
Sew sew much
In knew hands
Of the largesse seem stress
As off spring springing from
That mother land shared by awe
Cradled in owed country
Peering to honor there elders
Nurse themselves
And others
In the end
Of life
Carrying on
Anew
For those who can’t
Help hoping
Cultivating dreams
Soully laboring for new generations
That is
Un-less
Of coarse
Un-till
Impossibly harrowing
The plowman plows under his own
Lode of crop
Craven winter’s wrest
