Immigrants

“A week ago,” she said,
“From Kosovo,” she said.
“Really!” I said.
“Yes.”
And there was a bucket full of roses beside her,
Ten dollars a rose, 
Kind of steep, I thought,
And a sign in her hand that said, 
Please help, large family.
“How many are in your family?” I asked.
“My two sisters and me
And my father and mother.”
My family is bigger, I thought.
But I didn’t hold that against her.
“And where are you staying?” I asked.
“A hotel,” she said.  “A hundred dollars a night.”
And her eyes went wide,
And so did mine.
“That’s a lot,” I said.
“Yes.”
“But you’ll be ok, I think,” I said.
And she nodded her head.
They know how to beg, I thought.
And they know how to sell. They’ll be ok.
And I handed her five dollars.