excerpts from an immigrant diary
*** by Laura Bandila Goldberger
I used to write when I was two
I used to write at sixteen too
I used to write when I was older
When all my soul became much colder
When I was sad, when I was weak
When I was not allowed to speak
I used to write when I was lonely
Being inspired by pain, only
If you like Johnny Cash or Nails
You know the hurt has many scales
I used to sing also, for years
To tame my music with my tears
I used to read; I used to listen
To Wagner, shooting through me frisson
I used to be afraid of people
One day I hid in a high steeple
Spreading my wings, rising in flight
In an imaginary fight
I bit down all my dreams of being
The one who is this mankind freeing
I left my hopes in heyday’s tower
I lost my appetite for power
I got some children, nice and neat
I got a husband, the whole kit
It’s all about you, they will say
My plate is full; I got a tray
I had a lot of friends, the same
They’d loved to write; who could they blame?
Leaving their lives, they now perform
Some drops of rain in a big storm
I, me, myself, my life, me, me
I’ve lost although, Identity.