European Immigration: Reaction to "What They Took With Them"

Spoken Word Poem

"Sewing machine, it's my life, it's my blood. "
Blood-red
White-hot
Dirty pink-from a once fuchsia scarf
Futile against the journey
But at least I have a scarf.

With every step, the sun fights my eyes
I learned to look down at my feet,
at a soil that matches my skin, that traces all of the memories--  a home I do not know now.
I let myself wonder what life was like when I did not fear the sun, when I watched it set, admired it's beauty and the relief of a new beginning.
It seems now, there isn't a more tragic story then a moon always missing her son.

"My virginity"
The things I carried could not be seen
Yet they were heavier than any scarf
They grazed my skin, cut deep and merciless.

I carried my virginity.
A symbol of purity
A white rose in a dead meadow.
Vulnerability in a time of soldiers.

Teddy.
We go hand in hand.
Teddy is hungry.
Teddy is tired.
Teddy misses mommy.
Teddy let's go,
Teddy's lost.

Scarf, sun, purity, teddy.
My story's different, my eyes shine the same
This is a story of resilience, a war on our identity,
A sun refusing to give up his moon
A scarf-- threading the memories of another life
A rose-- burdened with resilient beauty
Teddy-- innocence found, lost, regained.