Twenty Years Old, Barely Married

I take a nanny job in Ireland 
for the summer, my new husband 
about to leave for basic training,

I, about to start graduate school,
sprinting for an adventure
before life consumes me.

I’ve never left the firm palm 
of my country. Scarcely an adult,
I have a passport, a ticket, 

and some nerve in hand. When I land 
on the emerald fairy island 
an immigration officer asks

me where I will be staying, for how long 
and to do what? Three months, Donegal, 
with the M family, to nanny.

She is irate at my lack of work visa,
gawks at my stupidity and illegal entry;
I’m taken to holding. I’ve never felt 

so scared and ashamed and alone. 
The tall white cube of a room, 
graffiti laced, reminds me 

of a racquetball court, like I’m here 
to play at adulthood. Who was here last - 
drug smugglers, violent men,

or young women like me, 
trying to navigate the world 
with a compass no one taught 

them how to use? I’m escorted 
to board a plane home. It’s years
before I dream of velvet fields again,
past tall white walls.

Jessica Aure Pratt
jessaure.poetry