Green Card

We are lucky. We sit and wait. We were early. Others are too late. There is a smell, body odor, Stale food, heat, smoke and piss. I kiss my daughter into another hour. We sit as if waiting at a cold bus stop, Dependent, huddled together, waiting to go...we know... there's no spare room. There are tired faces filling floor spaces, A baby cries while his mother rocks him To and fro...to and fro... "No we can't go!" I say to my daughter. She is two and restless, I am restless too. "Mommy has to stay a while." I smile to cheer her. We sit and wait. We are still waiting. Patiently she drinks her juice. I feel vulnerability creeping up on me, And hold her hand tight. She has more right... To be here.