James Moore Poet Narrative

Notes About The Poem

Melting Pot

I only came to America as a small boy
So I’ve never had a strong sense of home.
But that hasn’t bothered me
Since here is such a melting-pot
Where anything goes, from
The cerebral refinements of Europe
To the grounded earthiness of Africa,
The rarified aesthetics of Asia 
And the bare simplicity of Native America;
The distinct cultures of East and West 
And all points in between.

A land of plenty, opportunity and openness
Where any and all religious belief can thrive,
From Shamanism to Marxism, as well,
Of course, as a hundred faces of Christianity.
Where food and music and dress
Are gathered and mixed, blended and distorted,
But no one really cares
Because no one really knows the difference.

America, land of the free
As long as you pay your taxes.
America, land of contradictions
Where the dream is still alive.
America, land of so much wealth
That even the poorest living on the scraps
Usually don’t lack for what they crave.
Melting pot isn’t the same as distinct flavor,
It doesn’t really respect differences
In the rush to cook it all down
Into an homogenized culture.

Yes, it takes in the strong and ambitious, 
The desperate and seeking
The poor and huddled masses,
And it makes room at the table for all.
But the metaphor of shared abundance 
Breaks down in the real world
Where everyone has to make their own way,
Free to rise and free to fail
Sink or swim in the great melting pot
At the edge of the known world.

(9/22/26)

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