New American Gothic

gothic - adjective

1: Combines romance, horror and mystery; often includes violence. 2: Can also mean barbaric and unenlightened. Example: Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which a vain man keeps a portrait of himself in the attic, so he can sustain his illusion of surface beauty as he decays on the inside.

New American Gothic - tragedy
1: the gothic definition nails it here too  

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“Go back where you came from,
but first wash my floor.
Harvest and slaughter 
my food for the store;
stock the shelves,
mop up Aisle One,
then take what I waste 
to the dump when I’m done. 

“Build my new house,
paint my bored walls,
mend my old roof,
manicure my lawn.
Pamper my hair and nails at the spa,
give me a human-trafficked massage. 

“I feel like dining out tonight,
so give me a Lyft or an Uber ride
to that new cafe
you framed last spring
(your third job
that almost made ends meet.) 

“Make my food there,
plate it just right,
serve it to me
then scurry from sight;
bus my table,
mop when I’m through
(though you know
none of that tip goes to you.) 

“Keep the cafe open
by working cheap
so I can have glamorous places to eat.
And when I decide 
I’m too lazy to ride,
deliver my food 
if I dine-in that night. 

“Clean my hospital,
office and schools
(on night shift please,
so I don’t notice you.)
Care for me 
when I’m sick and hurt 
as a lab technician or licensed nurse. 

“Empty my bedpan when I’m elderly;
when I’m dead, dig a hole and bury me.
Go back where you came from,
but before you do,
do the work I want cheap
but don’t want to do.” 

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“It’s never been easy, 
so why do we try?
Knowing we might be outcast
or die.
Why leave our village and family;
our sacred places of ancestry? 

“We leave when poverty, hunger or war
arrive at our home
and knock down our door.
Look at us;
you can see in our eyes;
we either flee death,
or we come to seek life. 

“Look. In my eyes!
Allow them be our
windows; 
mirrors;
time machines…
back through prior centuries
to how it’s been,
and how it might be. 

“Today, you say we invade from the South,
but earlier decades 
were different than now.
Not long ago
we came from the East:
Laotian, Cambodian, Vietnamese. 

“We slept in tents when we were Chinese,
laying the rails
to link west and east.
With track to lay
they let us stay,
but when it was over
they drove us away. 

“At times
we came from Italy,
fleeing disease and poverty.
When we left Russia,
our crisis derived
from antisemitic genocide. 

“Arriving from Ireland,
our Catholic faith 
was met with discrimination and hate.
We labored in mines,
built rails and canals,
sewed your nice clothes
and cleaned your house.  

“For hundreds of years we were black 
and in chains;
trapped and dragged here
as servants and slaves
so work would be cheaper
than ethical ways;
gaze honesty,
you’ll see shades remain. 

“As pilgrims and puritans,
we brought religion
to save the souls 
of the local indigenous.
That didn’t go like
the myth of Thanksgiving;
we clashed with the ‘Indians’
from the beginning. 

“We were those ‘Native Americans’ too 
(to whom Europeans 
brought smallpox and flu.)
We got here first
but weren’t natives at all;
we fled from Asia 
when the Big Ice thawed. 

“The Asians’ forebears were African-born;
we spread with the winds
after walking north.
Why’d we leave then?
Same as this time…
fleeing death,
and seeking life. 

“We stand here today
so gratefully;
many were robbed
of that opportunity;
their fleeing, seeking parents-to-be
were deleted from families
they’d never meet. 

“Some of them died
in the desert sand;
some buried alive
when a mine shaft collapsed;
some dumped in the ocean over the side;
or abandoned in a tractor trailer to die. 

“We all came here
from elsewhere, you see?
It’s here. 
In my eyes.
As plain as can be;
in some previous century
your people were demonized
like me. 

“We’re the same tribe,
just divided by when…
us coming now
and you who came then. 
We aren’t nameless strangers,
invaders or hordes.
We’re humans, together;
the tale should be told. 

“So where is Hope in this history?
Must we continue the injury?
Not if we choose
compassionately;
not if we act 
like family. 

“Thank you
for riding our time machine.
We’ll say, ‘Buenos tardes’
and take our leave
to work more for our American Dream.
By the way, I’m Diego.”
                                 “And my name’s Sofia.” 

Lee DeNoya - Atlanta, May 2023