The Voyage (Gadralneure)

The Voyage


Sometimes I feel as ancient as the dirt.

Not old,

but ancient,

dusty like a worn museum desk,

piled high with artifacts and memories.


I'm not from here,

but traveled years ago,

when I was very young,

by ship across the cold Atlantic,

like some 1940's movie,

with immigrants in old New York.


I see the memories in black and white,

and I was very cute,

wrapped up in scarves,

and staring out across the sea

to a strange land

of gangsters and cowboys,

concrete and steel,

hopes and dreams.


When we arrived,

I saw her.

Standing like a goddess,

mother of the land,

guiding us in by the light of her torch.

Stern, but gentle,

protective and welcoming,

and I felt safe at journey's end.


And since that time I have not thought

of how it might have been

had I not sailed those many years ago.

My life began upon those sea-sprayed decks,

feeling the ocean gliding by beneath my feet,

racing toward the setting sun

to face an unknown dawn.

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