By Luis Alberto Ambroggio

Translated by Yvette Neisser

 

IMMIGRANT’S DREAM, USA

Passengers, we arrive at an uncertain shore
quieted by the guards and our fears.
Quiet to be absolute masters
of silence and the total delight of its noises and memories.

I am afraid, but the clock strikes eight on a dawn
that seems happy. The plane arrived, the other side of the river,
the border I had dreamed of. And they said, “Welcome.”

The life of words reaches deeper
than the play of letters. “Welcome.”
The heartless word carries dry blood,
though it wraps itself in lights, sheet music, labels.
“Welcome,” they said, and I am lost.

The sea I’ve left behind is not as vast as my grief
nor does it encompass the depth of tears
I want to cry. And it’s already so far away…
Welcome to a cruel experiment.
My pain has skin, but no limit.

The English they hear
does not fully translate the native heart,
Chicano, Latino, illegal or citizen,
all immigrants of a certain dream.
Now we are “welcomed.”

Leaden fish navigate our crushed minds,
companions of a constant wreckage.

But we ourselves have decided to awaken at dawn, to become New.
We pass through the door.
“Welcome,” they greeted us.
Welcome is just an expression.
But we passed through the door towards another day
sustaining the sober emptiness of desire:
A dream. It is called “Welcome.”