Made In America

Subways swim underground like whales swallowing dreams. I sit blended into its whirring cavity A hostage inside this vehicle transporting prisoners. I see my face clinched in the window’s reflection Shifting with blank gazes into stark musings as the whine of electrical motors wail like the Sirens from Homer’s Odyssey calling out, seducing shipwrecked promises of my tomorrow. Anger becomes sorrow that strangles my belly into fits. Rocking in this womb like a transient clock the tickety-tickety-tickety of the tracks count the moments, hours, days, years swiftly stolen- by those who inhale the air I cannot breathe. I am suffocating! To keep from drowning I clutch the rosary around my neck. Kindred voyageurs reaching for hope surround my crucifix palms up-with the penance of heartless ambiguity. Such cruelty these smiles hide, disguising their comfort from a sadness where justice might free me to pacify their souls in the name of their God A melting pot – a stew of skins-congregate in colors, waiting with bones boiling in this racist broth that ache with loathing, on the train of hungry whales that stalls tired and derailed. I have sacrificed family, friends, and homeland to touch the soil of this land of promise. But there is little harvest here. This shallow ground fatigues my fate and sucks it dry yielding barren fruits of truth as empty as the desert from which I fled. Stranded once more on this oasis of lies this nomad searching for a more perfect life Made in America. August 8, 2021 A Brian Strand your pick Poetry Contest Artist Credit: This poem was written for the image "Fata Morgana" by Swoon The definition of Fata Morgana is: a mirage of multiple images that are distorted and magnified to resemble elaborate castles.