Immigrant Son

Immigrant Son

A discarded paper-man
hewn of parchment ragged
and battle torn
tired, edges worn bare
I lie folded at your door-step
with my weary fists newly unclenched
I offer fresh palms broad
that we may join our hands
as one
that I may love and be loved
as your own, a child of the world
that I may share in your adversity
and share with you my prosperity
a place to call my own
a home
where a paper-man can be made whole
not merely of flesh and bone
as an immigrant son

This was created in response to 52-Pick-up challenge at Print Sense Photography blog,  


9 thoughts on “Immigrant Son

  1. There’s something I really like about this poem, and something really charming about it, but I can put my finger on it, and I keep reading it over and over, and I like it more and more, but I just don’t know what it is!

    Great work!


    • Hi Renee,
      after some careful deliberation, I respectfully decline any award nominations. I hadn’t considered awards prior to making my blog, and upon retrospection, award giving and receiving undermines the intentions of this journal. I hope you that you continue to visit my site, regardless, and I, yours. It is wonderful to feel appreciated, but ultimately, I need to continue in this manner for my own growth. I hope that you understand. With sincerest thanks, Jason

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