Marrying an Immigrant

Those big red bold words flash as a man with a clarinet voice tells us
Another brave and helpless soul was taken into a dark room somewhere
They had brown skin like yours holding my hand
Photographs appear like mugshots and instead of friendly they look angry
They should be, angry. I am too, but the fear comes first
The fear is so powerful because you sit next to me in love and heaven
Sometime soon you might not
They might take you away
To those dark rooms somewhere
Then, the anger will have its place
"They took our husbands" I will shout
"They took my husband"
I will not stop shouting until you are next to me again

-Bethany Rolfson