there is no measure
for a refugee’s story
it starts where yours ends

to gather the words
thick Asian-Afro-accents?
world peace in ears

just open your heart
your eyes your gut, God your soul
and you will hear them

bleeding through parties
drives across suburban hell
and comedy works

you will hear their cry
their mothers’ and fathers’ cries
and yes, you will cry

it’s the cry that springs
open the dead ache inside
oft named white privilege

please, measure their words
bring back those crossed continents
good Lord, bring them home

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