Conversation with Immigration Officer

By Ae Hee Lee
She looks at your papers.
She asks your husband to step out.
She asks you where your husband’s birthplace is.
She is testing you. You answer:

          we were made in water in free-flowing

          salt water rich with plankton

          & we keep a fire

          in our lungs it burns white

          red in the center like a hibiscus

          you must know we are all manic

          you must know we are not ink

          more than pencil-point residue

          graphite ...

She asks for the address of your current home.
You clear your throat and fold your hands on your lap.
Secretly, you imagine you have just met her
in a train, on the way to some undecidedly beautiful place.

          we are living

          in this continent for now

          we had to leave paradise

          when we became of age a common ritual

          how about you? did you know

          this continent is but a well-rooted boat?

          did you know roots are easy

          to snap?

The officer has a catalog of potential questions in her eyes.
You are the last question mark inside that list.
She asks if you have committed any crimes.

          i have lied before

          my memories

          & my world are always
         
          being devoured

          by bright lime groves

          but i am committed to lie

          with love

          to live

          i thought everyone

          committed lies

          & wants

She asks what you had for breakfast.
What your husband had for breakfast.
You smile at what could have been
a question asked by a friend.

          i pressed pearly remains

          of snow into my mouth

                          drop drop drop ...

          i didn’t share

          he peeled & ate a secret

          he didn’t share

          either

But the officer doesn’t smile back.
She asks if you understand what she is saying.

          i don’t dream in languages

          only in prophecies

          & whale songs

Your lawyer, sitting behind you,
says everything is going to be all right.

          i believe stories

          become real

          when you hunger

          yes, yes, don’t words make you want

          to believe?

But she isn’t smiling either. You shiver.
The air conditioner is always too cold, too powerful
in this country.

          see how inside my thorax

          minute icicles

          prickle and shake

          slightly at each hiccup

                          no ... yes ... no ...

The officer says you will hear from them
in a couple of months. She asks you to leave.
She asks your husband to step in.

                                           yes ...

Source: Poetry (November 2019)