Let us praise the immigrant
who leaves the tropics
and arrives in Chicago
in the dead of winter.

Let us praise the immigrant
who has never worn coats
who must bundle up
against an unimaginable cold.

For they will write letters home
that speak of it like Norse sagas
with claims that if a frigid hell exists
the entrance is hidden somewhere in this city.

Let us praise the immigrant
who fears the depths of the subway
the disappearance of landmarks
to guide them through the labyrinth.

Let us praise the immigrant
who dreams of the pleasures of sunstroke
who wakes each morning to the alien sight
of their breath suspended in the cold city air.