Emma Snavely
Seattle, WA
Crossing the Line
It’s time to cross
If it doesn’t work
All will be lost
America! Land of the free!
My mother says
That’s where we’ll be
If we can cross
If it doesn’t work
All will be lost
I don’t want to go back
Life was hard
We lived in a shack
We need to cross
If it doesn’t work
All will be lost
My father died
He was getting a place
For us to hide
We are determined to cross
If it doesn’t work
all will be lost
We must hide in this wagon of pine
If not, there is no hope in
Crossing the line
This One Boat
Cramped
Barely space to breathe
Sour smell in the air
This is the price of being free
We are garbage
Outcasts
Rejects
Alone
But we will be free
We are huddled
Blankets
Are not warm enough
What keeps us warm is the fire
Burning inside us
We are almost free
The giant woman greets us
You are going to be free!
She promises
We are survivors
Of our war laden country
We can survive this
Family members lost
In war
We will do this
Not for us,
For them
Memories
Fear
Love
Sadness
Compassion
All on this one cramped boat