Green Card :: Evidence of Adequate Means of Financial Support
By Ae Hee Lee
I needed money. There’s no poetic way to say this.
Even so, when you touched my face, brought my
cheeks to the nook of your neck, I burrowed into it—
a firefly seeking shelter from winter, far
underground. Then,
you told me there’s no application form that can hold
the entirety of a life, because our days constantly spill like wine.
Imagine that, you said, apricot tones all over the page!
you told me about your ferns, bejeweled with jade dew,
their coiled fiddleheads full of unfulfilled,
twirling futures, and I forgot about my fixation with earning
people’s respect, among other things for which
I’d been told it was proper to plead
until granted.
you told me, if immigrants could enrich a country,
you didn’t want to know
our melting point and whether we would shine
brighter than gold.
you told me how I could stop confusing belonging
with belongings, good with goods, by sharing
the way our hearts continue to beat
resilient, even without an assurance of worth.
you told me there can be solace in a dead end, in knowing the sea
still collapses, still runs and soars carrying its broken
shells, somewhere out there. And then,
you buried a kiss in the dark
earth of my hair. I believed it all.
What else could I do?
