They come to this country because
they’ve made up their minds. They
keep coming even when we tell them
there’s no room at the inn. They
come to this country a yearning mass,
huddled, wretched refuse doing
whatever they can to escape
their own teeming shores, tired,
poor, homeless and tempest-tossed.
But here, where there should be
lamplight and golden doorways,
there is only more of what they
prayed they’d left behind.
They come to this country and
they keep on coming,
in spite of all that, no matter what.
We all have histories; we all have
parents and grandparents; ancient
ancestors that came here ages ago.
Sadly, most of us have conveniently
forgotten that arrival; forgotten
how we must have looked and sounded
just stepping off the boat; forgotten
how our ways and means must have
seemed to those who were already here;
forgotten how we, too, nearing failure,
starving for success, would have starved
without their help.
Poets And Storytellers United
Writers’ Pantry #70