Americana

My favorite words in American literature have always been:

Give us your tired, your poor

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

My family came here in 1983

looking for the American dream.

They found it in bakeries

And construction sites

and sewing torn scraps of cloth.

Stitching together a dream

They never dreamt

And only promised on a statue.

They found that dream

And their dream came true.

My family bought a house, and then two more.

Then they founded a business,

And then two more.

But my dream was different

I was born in Queens

I dreamed of a glowing orange sunset with friends from all around

I dreamed of late night movies, and improving the lives of others, not just my own.

I grew up being told stories,

Of how if you worked hard and did what was right,

Then America had a place for you in it.

But when I grew up, others told me different.

"You’re stealing American jobs!" they said.

"Go back to your country!"

"Speak English they said"

When I spoke to my grandmother.

I couldn’t understand,

I considered myself American

I listened to Rock music and ate burgers and fries

Every year my family held a barbecue on the fourth of July 

And I had friends of all faiths and all colors and yet those people still told me

Your people don’t belong here

It was then I realized the American dream I sought

Was fragile like glass

My dreams of a glowing orange sunset

Was riddled with cracks of injustice and oppression,

One day I found that dream had been smashed.

Every family comes here looking for a dream

My family found their own

But for me, I’m still looking for my Americana