America: Milk, Honey, Gold

What a story you were
before we arrived in ships;
much later in planes. What 
a story, requiring we carry 
X-rays revealing sniper 
shadows in the trees of our 
lungs. But there was more gold
in the fillings of our grand-
parents' teeth than in the linings
of your sidewalk cracks, more
sweetness in chunks bitten off
from the end of a cane of sugar.
After the doctors thumped
our chests and marked our coats
with chalk letters, we made our way
down the gangplank. Seagulls
swooped down on our heads as if you
yourself were handing out the welcome
blessing feathered in dirty gray.

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