4. lessons in flowering

the dollar she was handed when shuffled off the boat
lay caged from fading family photos by her coat pocket
lining, from her tata’s hands reaching through each scar
of needle and thread affixing paper to fabric

she refused his offering, swirl of memory of trembling
fingers as he watched terror shade his daughters eyes,
as he attached the photos in their final moments together, 
insisting she have them, for when they were all she had left
of him

she followed the line of dragging feet snaking through
scornful glares, through this threshold of earth and
weathered doorways promising to keep an ocean
between her and everything before 

she clutched her small suitcase latched tight around
one dress and a crisp paper granting permission to stay,
permission to leave her self behind

with her first shaky footsteps through the swarm of
unfamiliar filling her senses, she pressed the crumpled
dollar into the palm of a street vendor and pointed to
a cherry red lipstick, curling her fingers around the
glossy tube and cold coins he handed her, she looked
around 

let her tight lungs ease just enough to let out a sigh
knowing every hue of humiliation and shade of stumbling 
this unknown and unwelcoming landscape laid before her
would have to dim itself against the backdrop of this piercing
red accent spread neatly across her plush and plump lips