The Immigrant

by Daisy Zamora
translated by George Evans

She wakes up feeling odd
in a strange room.

Where is the father
and the mother
who just a moment ago
were with her?

Where are the words
of the conversation,
and the fragrant courtyard
after the downpour?

She gets up and sighs.

This foreign room
and indifferent light
of any morning
hurts her.

From the street
come the noises of life.
And the dream is left crumpled
like a handkerchief.