My Name Is Immigrant

Call me Immigrant. In your country, I do the essential work to keep your living standards high, even as you jeer at me and pay me nowhere near the same dollars you do to your exalted citizens, for the same work. Of late, I am coming into my voice. Wang Ping is my inspiration.

Cockle Pickers: Wu Hongkang

We pat the sand, we pat the sand
Teasing cockles to the cold surface
We dig, we pick, we break our backs
Bagging cockles for two pounds
They say we can return
When the bag is full
But home is far away
In the dark, we can’t make out the sea
No stars point our path to the shore
Wind comes from all directions
Cutting our bones
How empty is desire
In the foaming mouth of Morecambe Bay

Reviewed by Matt Sutherland

Disclosure: This article is not an endorsement, but a review. The publisher of this book provided free copies of the book to have their book reviewed by a professional reviewer. No fee was paid by the publisher for this review. Foreword Reviews only recommends books that we love. Foreword Magazine, Inc. is disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.

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