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.