First Place | Poetry Writing Contest
59th New Millennium Award for Poetry
Sara Shea of Asheville, North Carolina for “Customs”
Shea will receive $1,000 and publication both online and in print.
Customs
Coming through US Customs from Ecuador,
the passport agent asks if I have anything to declare.
I know he’s not asking about
duty-free indulgences,
exotic perfumes or rare cigars.
He isn’t referring to bitter cacao or
sun-soaked coffee beans.
Yes, I’ve tucked a few seeds in my pocket-
granadilla seeds wrapped in foil,
the last taste of home I shared
in my grandfather’s Guayaquil courtyard,
but that’s not what he means.
Crossing borders from Ecuador into the United States,
the passport agent repeats, “Anything to declare?”
I picture my grandmother,
in A-line dresses, wide-brimmed hats
with frangipani blossoms in her hair,
sipping sangria along El Malecón.
1940s’ Guayaquil held the promise of fortune
in rice, bananas, oil.
I picture my grandfather, El Capitan!
Navigating the Guayas River, leaving port by starlight-
sexton in hand, handsome in his jacket with brass buttons,
gold embroidery, shoulder epaulets.
They were running early petrol tankers through
the Panama Canal. It was a marvel, then!
They wagered on a love that would outlast
malaria, revolutions, temptations, typhoons.
Coming through the Department of Homeland Security
from Ecuador to Miami International Airport,
the question lingers — “anything to declare?”
I should declare the apologies. The explanations.
The what-ifs. The missing photographs.
The heartaches that have haunted
my grandparents, their parents,
their children and grandchildren.
Coming through customs onto US soil,
I could declare that the marriages, affairs, actions
and decisions of one generation stretch exponentially
through families for lifetimes to come.
Instead, I shrug,
knowing seeds easily drift
from their roots in the winds of change.
The passport agent asks
my reason for travel.
I answer, “Family.”
He nods, calls me an American, and
stamps my passport.
*
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sara Shea received her BA from Kenyon College, and pursued graduate studies at UNC Asheville and Western Carolina University.
Her work has appeared in Connecticut River Review, Quarterly West, The Static in Our Stars Anthology, Key West Love Poetry Anthology, Amsterdam Quarterly, Gaslamp Pulp, Petigru Review, New Plains Review, The Awakenings Review, and Atlanta Review.
Shea’s first chapbook of poetry, In A Photograph Already Burning, was published in 2025 by Tiny Cat Press. Her second chapbook, Rare Frequencies, will be available from Finishing Line Press in spring of 2026. Shea writes professionally, producing marketing materials for a fine arts gallery in Asheville, NC.
Customs © 2026 Sara Shea
It’s beautiful, and congratulations are in order! As a recent visitor to Ecuador I could feel the air and smell the scents.
Please correct one word – it’s sextant, (not sexton).
A sextant is a vital, hand-held navigational instrument used to measure the angle between the horizon and a celestial body (sun, moon, or stars) to determine a vessel’s latitude and longitude at sea.
A sexton is an officer of a church, congregation, or synagogue charged with the maintenance of its buildings and/or an associated cemetery.
How right you are, Patty! Thank you for calling our attention to that editing error. And an even bigger thank you for words of praise for this poem we love so much!