Do you remember the projects?

written after working and living for a summer with innercity kids just outside of Boston, Ma

 

Do you remember the projects?

 

I doubt that I’ll ever forget

those cold brick walls,

or the thousand pitfalls

that lay everywhere we stepped.

 

At first, I never noticed

the trash in all the halls,

the kids with broken dolls,

or the crying in the night.

 

Inside those broken homes,

no one heard our moans,

no one ever smiled,

and no one ever had

the chance to be a child.

 

Those days were always sad,

not living, but existing,

not trying, but resisting

the urge to fall asleep;

for once we closed our eyes,

we stood to lose our lives

in the darkness of the streets.

 

 

 

So few could dream while still awake,

so many tried but few could make,

that sojourn through the desert sands,

the crossing to the promised land

of the mythical American dream.

 

And still, for a fortunate few

(like me and you)

who trusted in the lie,

someone spoke, something broke,

and the dream would come alive.

 

Now, I ask why I escaped

the fears and hates

which trapped so many more.

 

I know there are no answers,

but asking keeps me talking,

into those roaring winds,

 

Hoping, that one day

my voice may carry

across the desert sands,

and in the place where I began,

help another on his way.

 

Reviews

[Constance]

I had to find my way from times of poverty as well, in fact, there were times I would have killed to be able to live in the projects instead of on the street. Thank you for this wonderfully inspirational write. I hope someone reads this and understands a little more. It seems many people have lived life on another planet than we have. I love these lines:
"So few could dream while still awake,
so many tried but few could make,
that sojourn through the desert sands,
the crossing to the promised land
of the mythical American dream."
Es verdad, que todien venien con suenos grandisimos, y viven en en mundo peor de donde vengan por lo mas--porque crimen, y pobredad, y gente quien no quieren mirar nuevas personas por como eres.

I work as a tutor for students who come fresh from Mexico, El Salvador, y Guatemala. I also work as a translator and as an assistant to the entire family, quite often, without pay. I am not Hispanic, but considering the way I grew up, I have more in common with them than with most of my coworkers at the school. The racism amongst the people here in Kansas often astounds and ignites me. Then I come to understand that it isn't only about race, it's about poverty and social status- because of my background, I meet much of the same resistance. More people need to read this. I posted a blog once on Myspace trying to get people to understand the hopes and dreams of immigrants. I told stories I have heard from some of my students-- horror stories, some of them-- about their crossing, the life they led farther south, the life they led when they first came to the US. It was the #10 blog on that site, with over 500 comments. Guess what? Everyone turned it into a race war. People are so shallow they make me sick sometimes. I deleted my profile there, and I'll never regret that decision. I find a much more intelligent, open minded crowd here at the Cafe. I may just do another blog about immigrants.
Keep writing, and following your dreams, and sharing them with the world. You are a talented poet, and I bet you have some great stories to tell as well.
C