My father
created a life
out of thin air.
He built a foundation
with his strong hands
and his strong mind.
He built a home,
raised a family,
and found success.
Then he uprooted
to a new land,
to plant new trees,
on new landscape,
of a blank canvas,
for his sons and daughter.
He left notoriety,
a good name,
a reputation,
to start over.
Be invisible,
suffer tragedies and challenges
in his new world,
for all of us to find peace
from the impending war.
He sacrificed for the country,
but he did not want to
sacrifice his sons.
My mother learned
a new language in her
late forties.
Leaving behind tailored dresses
and sparkling jewels.
Abandoned her status
to work as a cook
at a beach front hotel.
Her dainty feet
swelled into boats,
never to recover.
Her mother tongue spoken to us,
while others did not understand
her broken English.
Hope drifted in and out of
the windows of our home
and entered through the
door one day.
But it was not long before
a new hurdle
had to be confronted.
My mother and father
did not dwell in the past.
They lived every day
stung by the reality of
putting food on the table
and clothes on our backs.
Their love trickled in our sleep,
raised our dreams,
found a path,
to change,
to rise,
to recreate our life.
