Good Immigrant Girl • Journal
after Jamaica Kincaid
This is how you keep your head down; this is how you thank God for this country: loudly so they hear
you; cook fish so it doesn’t taste fishy; work hard but don’t take jobs from white people; this is how you
become better than them without competing; keep your head down; this is how you pick the good bananas
at the store; say vai tomar no cú when someone asks you to teach them how to curse in Portuguese; this is
how you speak English with no accent; this is how you lose your language: slowly, like a reverse sipping
of hot alphabet soup; learn Spanish and be grateful for the middle ground; this is how you talk to
Southerners when you’re at a gas station in the middle of nowhere on a road trip; learn samba in case
someone asks you to prove you’re Brazilian; make thin cuts along the length of the papaya so it ripens
faster; renew your DACA every two years and be grateful for the middle ground; this is how you don’t
drive yourself crazy; go to therapy but don’t alarm your therapist enough to get committed because that
shit shows up if you’re applying for papers one day; this is how you hide; don’t ask anyone for money;
you weren’t brought to this country to beg for anything from these people; shape your pão de queijo balls
perfectly: slather oil on your hands, shape the dough gently so it kind of looks like a pião, then smooth it
into a sphere; keep up with immigration news but don’t get hopeful; this is how you don’t drive yourself
too crazy; learn to mourn your dead without ever going to funerals; this is how you keep the garlic teeth
from jumping out of the mortar: you add a little salt; be careful when you let the steam out of a pressure
cooker; this is how you stay; mas e se eu não quizer continuar aqui?; you mean to say that after all of that
you’re not even going to stay?
Doubling up on pants for elementary school in Boston undocumented // Daring myself to take the big
slide in the playground undocumented // First crush on a boy who was mean to me undocumented // He
called me four-eyes undocumented // Taking walks with my mom undocumented // Stopping by the
Friendly’s undocumented // Trying to preach to the Catholic girl I was told wasn’t saved undocumented //
First violin concert undocumented // Sleeping in the car in the move to Georgia undocumented // Waking
up and thinking Connecticut is ugly undocumented // Singing in church undocumented // Learning how to
drive undocumented // Watching the news undocumented // Asleep in MARTA, bookbag straps wound
around my arms undocumented // Never missing my stop undocumented // Still here undocumented //
Paying out-of-state tuition in the state I grew up in undocumented // Graduating with two degrees because
fuck ‘em undocumented // Asking permission to leave the country undocumented // Strapping my dog to
my torso undocumented // Explaining immigration law to Georgia congressmen undocumented // Can’t
shake undocumented // So tired undocumented // Leaving the South to try to forget undocumented // But
I’m still in the country undocumented // Looking at Zillow for places in Puerto Rico undocumented //
Increasing my Prozac prescription undocumented // Psychiatrist saying she learned so much from me
undocumented // Writing poems about the sky undocumented // Getting older and thinking about children
undocumented // Protesting US funding of Palestinian genocide undocumented // Leaving early because
the cops arrived undocumented // Rewatching comfort cartoons undocumented // Craig of the Creek and
Centaurworld and Wake Up Carlo and Bob’s Burgers undocumented // Embroidering and crocheting and
felting undocumented // I know it’s all compulsive undocumented // Checking on my sister undocumented
// Calling my mother undocumented // Waking up undocumented //
Edited by Stuti Pachisia and Ivy Raff.
The featured artwork was created for this piece by our Art Director, Meg Sykes.
