Poemattic: Poetry and Art for the Soul

 

 

Coming to America

 

She was only 18 years old

Her heart raced in her chest

like galloping stallions on the finca

they left on the island of emerald-green.

 

 

Soon their ship would pass by Lady Liberty;

All decks were packed with passengers

Some would salute proudly,

others knelt thankfully

as if at church,

but she simply held her breath

like when you get ready to

blow-up a balloon at a birthday party.

 

Her dreams danced in her head

like her favorite dancers Fred Astaire

and Ginger Rodgers.

 

She envisioned herself looking out

her bay window framed with lace curtains

as her two young girls jumped rope.

 

She imagined her Cape Cod home

surrounded by a three-foot white picket fence,

daffodils and daisies leaning comfortably against it.

That was her American Dream.

 

 

 

 

 

She knew there was hard work ahead

No one said it would be easy

her heart reminded her everyday

that hope makes everything possible.

 

 

No one warned them about the

False pride and prejudice of some folks

or about the stereotypes (woven

into the fabric of the what they called

the union)

that would always look at her dreams

in the face and call her “SPIC” and stupid.

 

 

My mother was a strong woman

She proved them all wrong.

Her last wish was to return home someday

that was her Puerto Rican Dream.

 

 

 

She accomplished both.

She is in Heaven now,

Of this I am sure.

 

I bet she’s wondering

what is going on here?

what happened to our American Dream.

What happened to the “I CAN” attitude?

Mom, you don’t want to know.