The lady of liberty
Stands with a tablet on one hand,
And a torch raised in another,
And a broken chain on her feet,
Looking like the perfect goddess
Signifying liberty, in a country
Of worldly freedoms.
While in uptown New York, near 125th street
There is a lady, of French ancestry, living alone.
A tablet of Xanax, she takes every night
To curb the anxiety, and a torch
Underneath her pillow,
To flash at night and a broken
Rosary on her bed stand.
And freedom for her
Is waking up alive the next morning,
And the cup of Sri Lankan tea she sips,
Before she takes the subway
And ferry to Liberty island, where
She works at a ticketing counter
And in Liberty Island, these two
Women collide, not knowing how similar they are.
Both, as an Emma Lazarus
Poem inscribes, are mothers of exiles,
Exiled to opposite poles of a defiant freedom,
That lives larger than her mighty dimensions,
And yet is as small, as a single ballot slip.