An immigrant journey

Packing the bags was okay;

Just lots of bags and lots of stuff

And a last night sleeping on mattresses on the floor.

Packing was van was okay;

We watched the guys pile everything in;

Sons decided they’d never move house or change schools anymore.

Packing for the flight was okay;

Everyone held their own case, even the kids

And everyone cried.

Waving goodbye was okay

If you ignore my clinging to son who tried hard

To be left behind and I couldn’t look in my mother’s eyes.

The flight was okay

Except one boy lay on the floor and screamed

Till I picked him up while the catering cart went by.

Immigration was okay

With three boys trying to silently say

We’re not staying long when we knew it was meant to be forever.

The house was okay

But not our house our furniture and not our neighborhood

Nor our spiders either and this one had a red spot.

But that was okay;

We slept on mattresses in real beds

Till the sons rebelled and slept on the floor

Which was okay by me.