Dreaming America by Sam Hamod   (lst Draft)

Dreaming America by Sam Hamod (lst Draft)

Dreaming America  9.15.15   © sam hamod  lst draft

 

Where it was once

This dream of a dream,

This place of dreams,

Where it seemed

Money grew on trees, where

You came to send money home

To those poor left behind, their dreams

In your pockets,  that you used

On each day, each week

And sometimes, each month of

The long voyage, on deck in sweltering sun,

No water, no food, just more cargo, not human,

Not sure of what we were after the fevers set in,

Blistering heat, and a language we

Couldn’t understand, it wasn’t Greek, it wasn’t

Arabic, it wasn’t Italian, it wasn’t Farsi, it

Was an odd language, almost like some Germans

We’d met during their field work, studying

Our Roman ruins, but it wasn’t’ clear,

And we knew it wasn’t French, even the Christians

On board, who  knew French, knew it wasn’t French,

They yelled at us, the waves cooled us off but

Ship rocking  back and forth, up and down, now

Huge waves washed some  overboard, others yelling

To hold on, to hold on to them to keep them from washing

Overboard—but we held on, held on, sweated,  felt the salt water sting,

But we held on, held on, held on into nightmares and dreams

Of home, of the fields, the quiet, the goats and sheep,

And our mothers, sisters, brothers and fathers

Waiting for us, at the table, praying

Knowing we would rescue them, but as for us,

We needed someone to rescue us

And we hadn’t even gotten to that new land yet

 

© sam hamod, 9.15.15 Section I   lst draft

 

Section II