Perfectly positioned Southeast
As a greeting to oncoming vessels
I see your faces as clear as you see mine.
You are, huddled like swine,
Hoping that faith has aligned
& brought you to the right place.
That time & space
Haven’t forsaken you
By bringing you
I stand here
Day & night to usher you in,
I see the valleys in your brows
That reveal your journeys.
The protrusions of your ribs
That show your hunger,
And the the curling of your backs
Because of the worlds you carry over.
Ready to throw into the warm melting pot.
But the cold truth is
We live in a salad bowl,
Where culture remain whole.
Where they’re pushed to the side
To be diluted & secluded
Where new versions
Of the old world
Becoming the only place
That you’ll feel safe
& even though they say the darker the berry
The sweeter the juice
The abuse from the center
Causes that bowl to splinter
Pushing your sweetness far away.
See those valleys,
Will only get deeper
And your ribs,
They will learn to love your skin.
Pushing against it so hard,
It seems like God
Is remaking woman.
& your back, oh your back will curl
Like a threatened arthropod
Until it spirals out of control
From all of the heavy lifting
You’ll be forced to do;
Because Uncle Sam has invite you
to make a better life– for himself.
& he wants you– to do the dirty work.
& he’ll give you the American Dream,
which is really a nightmare,
where the only white pickets you’ll see
wont be on fences but in lines of Sam’s nativists
telling you to go home.
& I know that Sam & I go hand in hand,
but our marriage is not as picturesque as it seems.
I was the mail order bride
Sent from france
As the wax seal to diplomatic ties,
Disguised as the Zeus and Hera of Earth,
The Athenians not knowing the strife he’d caused his wife,
and you not of what Sam has caused me.
See Sam’s foreign affairs brought you to me– unwanted children.
Like Heracles to Hera,
so i wont be villainized for your mistreatment,
because Cinderellas stepmother
never asked for another daughter
but didn’t mind the free labor
& the little matchstick girls mother
was just an opportunist
& by me just doing this
I run the risk of pushing sams temper
he says I should tell you your rights
that its bad for business
but with god as my witness
I must make things right
because the broken chains that lay at my feet are reminders
not reminders to you of what weve stepped passed
but to me– that the chains are still there, not broken but open
ready to slap back on me to send me back to work
but sam has pimped my body to freedom for far too long
so i write you my children
hoping that you’ll get this message and come back from whence you came
spare you from my fate
Forget about the dreams & the lies& the jobs & the lies & the opportun & the lies
that have brought you here
Because this house is no home
& this story is no poem
The New Colossus is never coming
& here, the tired, poor huddled masses will never breathe free