even though i was scared, i knew there was nothing for me
back home.
back then, you did whatever
you could.
time, place, effort. only one you can control on your own.
even with my hand on my heart,
i felt nothing.
but every day is as god arranges it: the best version of itself.
she clutches her thirty dollars in one hand, and all the hope she could find as a carry-on. plane rocks like earthquake, and she becomes it. bull in her body, velvet and eager, tells her it is worth it.
she floats in the city of angels, wonders where they are. if they exist, she will find them. ghost of grandmother tells her to smile while she bows, the english will come later. dragon wills her into cinder.
she feels ore in the soil and the sky. floor is just large enough for a blueprint. ghost of grandfather knows how to build a train. excavate, he bellows. your hands will be worth it.
she clutches her diploma like she does her tea. she throws it into a kiln of adobe, makes bread and apple pie. for her, there is nothing but conductor; love is the engine, and family its fuel.
she looks at her son like he is the thing that is worth it. outside, a train is docked at its station, rusty from headwinds. it creaks lightly; he bawls; she laughs. husband playfully asks who he will be. he will be happy, she rejoices. he will dream.
this poem was inspired by eden’s “wake up“
~1/2017
odyssey entry 6
foreign face entry 2
v4