American Dream

By: Denise Campbell

Date: July 17, 2002

What a hard life

Trying to make it in this world

It is so hard trying to just live and survive in Great America where stories of dream come true and streets lining with gold spread across the Caribbean like wild fire

I remember as a child when my father would visit

And how exciting it was to hear the stories of a place where a child can have their heart’s desire

The sweet smell of want and hunger would burn our souls as gift-wrapped clothes and what-it-knots would come spilling out of a suitcase as sweet as perfume.

I remember as if it was yesterday

Everyone adorning our foreign guests with respect and adoration

Holding then at high esteem as if on a pedestal

Wondering and shouting

“The Americans! The Americans!”

I would watch family

Related and unrelated

Beg, borrow and steal their last dollar in the pursuit of an American passport or visa

And today as I remember

I wonder

Was it worth it?

Is it worth it to be here in a country where even being able to eat is a financial decision?

When back in my country food grow in our back yards like weed

Is it worth it?

To live in a country where even after achieving an education

A degree

One must still struggle with a job of minimum wage

Struggle to pay bills

Where the thought of a smile is luxury?

When back in my country

Even in death there is a celebration of life

Where the elders told stories of duppy and Bro’ Anancie on wooden make shift stairs at midnight

Where the playing of a song means to get up and dance

Back in my country

Our neighbor is our aunts and uncles and cousins

And the phrase “it takes a village to raise a child” has true intrinsic value

Is it worth it to live in this country

Where our grand parents are disrespected and put in homes

When back in their own country

They would be seen as wise

And sought out for their knowledge

This country tells us lies

Tells us hard work is the true road to success

But how is that possible?

When I see Caribbean people all over this country laden with depression and resentment

When cleaning bedpans is the work of choice for a hard earned dollar

I remember as a girl

As a child with hopes and dreams

That this Great America was the answer to prayers

But their own lye the streets like dust

With hunger in their bellies and dirty clothes on their backs

When their own cry for help but the cries fall on deaf ears

And no one has time to listen

Yes?

Great America

The dream maker

What a life

What a lie