Armenian Cigarettes

I wonder how far they travelled
to get to me,
these Armenian cigarettes.

They smoke like it was
a long, arduous journey
and I don’t doubt it was.

Small, with no access to the sea
smuggling from Armenia
has to be a struggle.

In the dead of night
they throw the tarp over
the boxes, slap the back
of the truck, and hope.

Overland, border after border
after border to a long dock
in a cove everyone’s
forgotten.

And then there’s the passage,
long days on the waves,
pitching and rolling.

Until finally they arrive,
unstamped, untaxed
20 little immigrants to the pack.

I wonder how far they travelled
to get to me,
these Armenian cigarettes
and about their suffering.

Regardless, the important thing
is we’re together, now
and sort of always will be.

This is America
and some of us
love you,

we’ll gladly take you into our homes,
Into our bodies.

We will fight for you
and we can wonder
but, no one in this place

will ever really understand
where you’ve come from
or how far you’ve travelled.

Give us your tired,
your poor,
your hungry.

–November 24, 2015