Mother's American Dream
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Sitting on this gray wooden bench beside my late mother
Her light yellow blouse shiffling in the Atlantic air
She is exicited, anxious, happy and swells with a sense of achievement
For she had done it. She had found her relatives found her long lost Duke and hope.
We looked out together from Rosses point at the horizon and America
My much younger brothers played soccer on the beach below these rocks
They were not much more than tousered specs but proud we were
Proud in a motherly and brotherly way of them.
Mother would never say stay and work when you do arrive in Maine
But was tough enough to let me go. Just like her own mother would have been.
Her love would always be dousted strongly with conditions of boastfulness
at all her children's achievements
I would well consider staying in America should the opportnity arise
The airforce base nearby sweltered for me in the 6am Maine air.
I jogged alone by maincured lawns of Duke's neighbourhood, Could I fit in.
A prison warden he took me to gaol to collect a pay check and to dish out irish fags
I jogged again and asked do I really want to live and work in this land
My routes are strong. I would miss my young brothers and not even know them.
Boston had style but screamed at me too.
My mother's first cousin was a hollywood dream, a chiselled Kirk or Burt.
With him a wily wife of Italian extraction and a tarot card reader extraordinare.
Her prediction :
A job and marriage and an apartment will come to you on this three week trip!
Written on a piece of paper I promised not to read this until the last day.
One night we dined out and awaited Duke's friend and attractive girlfriend.
We chatted. I realised I was the son they really had wanted between them
The girlfriend declared that she would be prepared to marry a stranger
A stranger for a fee. How desperate might I be!
A stranger who may want to get to stay in the USA full-time. Legally.
A job at the drive in bank. A job through a friend of Duke's. You can stay with us.
You can stay in New Hampshire at our letting house. Why not. Why not ?
I opened my wallet on the plane. And read. "Negative response to the above".
I had said yes or no to no one but I could see my mother's disappointed eyes.
But no she was grand because, still excited, she had not given up.
In her hand we knew. If a letter arrived from the American embassy in Dublin that
I had won a Morrison visa. A lottery draw to balance world numbers to the US. !
Copyright © Ian Foley | Year Posted 2011
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