First the pink ones, with yellow lights.
Then the silky dark ones.
Sweeter, nearly cloying as you and I
eat and eat until the bag folds over.
My first knowledge was tell no one.
This is love among the undocumented.
Tell no one. When I met you, even you,
I wondered, would you do it?
In the courtyard the dust rises.
Soon there will be peaches, plums.
I am ready for them all.
My mother says, Well, what did you
expect. Deportation is deportation.
Heartbreak is heartbreak. They
shouldn’t be the same to us.
No rain, it turns out. You and I sleep
a while, make love before the moon sets.
The shadows of each eyelash dive
like swifts down your cheek.
Attention to detail is a survivor’s trait.
Will you marry me is one question.
Will you report me is the other.
—Esther Lin (Poetry Northwest)