I re-blogged this poem in honor of my mother. I can’t imagine what she would say about all that is happening right now. I hope she is not too worried.
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
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Poemattic: Poetry and Art for the Soul 
3 responses to “Coming to America”
It is a beautiful poem and memorial to the reasons our ancestors came to the New World, whether it was Canada or the US.
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Thanks.
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Thank you Melba.
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