No land for refugees by Vandana Kumar

image of immigrants arriving at Ellis Island, 1900

These homes belong to us

Look at the numbering

The census approves

There is a parking lot as well

Our teenage children

Play all sorts of things here

Without driver’s licenses

This isn’t a ghost town 

Vulgarly modern

It spreads its wings

On loud speakers

No one eats rice with their hands

No dirt shows up

It’s settled deep inside the nails

The armies aren’t fragmented here

The seasons and plates

Are only too full

This isn’t home to refugees

You can always tell

By the largesse of the sun

The way it

Sprinkles winter warmth

On each balcony