An
open letter to the Immigration Authority
Because the warm brown bee
finds
no way through the invisible barrier,
Because it tears its smoky,
gossamer wings
against
implacable glass;
Because it spills the
bright-grained pollen
from
its harvest legs;
Because its intricate eyes are
dulled,
its
feelers slumped;
Because its whole purpose of life
is
defeated by indifferent power,
I don’t know what to say
to
my warm brown daughter
As she beats herself to death
against
your invisible barriers.
The bee
is
already dead.
I think I shall invite you
to
my daughter’s funeral
To represent the warm brown boy
who
loved her,
The one whom you will not even
allow
to
know of her death.
(October,
1991)
