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Immigrant Face
I have an immigrant face
In two generations
It has not lost the charm of the old world
Or gained that new world look
I still have a stout peasant body
I’m a clone of my great-grandmother
Her pointed nose and chin
Her deep-set, dark eyes
Her dark, wavy mane
And now as I revisit her home
And walk in her footsteps
I nearly drown in nostalgia
As though I’d lived her life
