Immigration QuotasMarcela Sulak
All my life I have been meeting foreigners. They ride bicycles they cook delicious they buy tickets to the opera they pronounce my name in burning vowels direct my steps witheloquent turns of wrist but though they have gardens and have set my bones and I have met their great aunts and seen their sofas and smelled their skin they will leave me motionlessafter sunset the credits picking raspberries the Van Gogh before half-closed eyes of Russian icons and gold leaf glittering under buzzing lights and temperature. The visa will expire too loud to resist the band will hit a wrong note the bank will fail the hand will drop off the shoulder. It will have been vacation high tide an accident a mispronunciation an unfortunate choice an ill-advised use of slang.
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