XXVIII

New York was far too bittersweet
For my taste-
I spit it out, gave it back.
You lied, my friend- my poor and
Huddled mass isn’t good enough
For your golden streets.
I got off the rescue ship thinkin’
That survivin’ must mean I’m gonna
Be somebody, that maybe because a lifeboat
Walled me in, held my hand through disaster-
I had some meaning. Some reason
To walk on tall into your open,
American arms.

But I checked the list of the dead
Today. I read name and name and name
And
There is no way there were two
Margaret Clarence Smitholds
On that there ocean voyage.
What’s so dead about me?

I checked today and I walk and I talk
Far better than a plastic doll
And there’s no livin’ part of me I left on
That boat
‘cept maybe my heart

Because lord, there ain’t no
Dead in my skin
But I’m **** close to not bein able
To feel
anything