The emigrant

An emigrant stood on a sandbox shore,
in the shadow of nimble ghost clouds
covered land and sea,
pockets turned out, only from me can
they take nothing. ….they surround me
in cunning covers, yet
i hear them breathing as slapping waves

A pier he saw dimly, started to wade, took
out a flask, liquor spilled
on his lips and into the brine; shroud of dark
swam for a steamer vessel. ….
in his wake, religious cloth lapping, treading
almost catching; looking out
a third class window, light on the horizon

America to him seemed everything, left behind
a lifeless life. ….steady and long,
he struggled in tenement;
cement and frozen wages, cold and damp
in Brooklyn, floundered through
the drifts the weeping sleepless nights,
confided in the good book stolen from his room

They all had their parts once they entered leaky
ships, the husband and wife
the stammerer, the sick, the lonely, all waiting
for a better life when steel and rust
docked in a dimly lit harbor. ….the myth of
golden streets more like gray cobbled
streets, deep into watery bowels of cities basins.

Copyright © 07/22/2015 fishbonepoetry®


This entry was posted in Poetry.

2 comments on “The emigrant

  1. Such images to reap many imagination rewards – this is an excellent write, it provides the reader and excellent view of the scene through showing – great!

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