As a third-generation American with Eastern European Jewish ancestry, my immigrant heritage feels far from daily experience. Near the turn of the century, my family assimilated to American culture as quickly as they could and tried to leave behind whatever traumas they had experienced in "the Old Country.” I have few family stories about life before my great-grandparents left their homelands and people, or the specific experiences that ultimately prompted them to become Americans. As a result of their decisions, I inherit both the privileges of being a White American, as well as the violence. I bear the cultural losses, responsibility, and the rewards of that migration and assimilation. These poems and the funds they raise are intended as a small token of acknowledgement for the unique lives and dreams of new immigrants, as well as the hardships they face. I also write them to honor a debt of gratitude to my own ancestors, whose sacrifices, in part, have provided me a bountifully good life. Tapping into my own people's collective history brings me into contact with a larger human experience of displacement, migration, hope and resiliency. While each of our stories and struggles is certainly different, we share this—a desire to be safe, free, healthy, and happy.