Stand in a large courtroom, right hand held high, a small flag in your left. Hear jumbled words fall softly off your lips, in tandem with 157 other newly minted members of the Great Experiment. A judge stands at the front of the room, telling you what it is to be an immigrant, telling you how this country was built by your kind, and when he says congratulations, he means it.
When you walk out of the courtroom, you let out a breath you've held for 33 years.
Later that night, wrapped in novelty flags and the love of those who've carried you here, with the bartender announcing your feat to the room and playing Neil Young in your honor, you get one brief moment where everything is suspended in mid air. Nothing needs doing, nothing needs fixing or dissecting. For a brief moment over PBRs and nacho cheese and whimsy, you are only in the moment and nowhere else.
America, you have given me all
and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents
We've come a long way together, you and I.
Where will we go,
next?
No comments:
Post a Comment