home
was never like this
stitched
suited
grand piano
(we only had an upright)
there are
no flowers
no lace
no cushions
no cats
no art
no fruit bowls
no glass decanters
no persian floor rugs (faux)
no wooden floors
no pot pourri
no lamps
no warmth
growing up
we had no idea
what we were supposed
to be missing out on
we were
the only people in the street
who had wine delivered by a merchant
*Gasp !..*(.must be drunks)
the only ones who
tracked into town to buy imported food
( on public transport )
*More Gasps!*
it was a time when
wog was a term
reserved for greeks
and italians
we were fair skinned and blue eyed
labelled foreigners
marginally more acceptable...just...
our food clothes and ways
men greeting each other with a kiss
*Beyond Gasps!!*
never got us an invitation
to a home
that looked like this
*Sigh*
(of relief)
nice tale
ReplyDeletemuch love...
This speaks so much to a specific time & place in history -- and to the definition of home. I think I long for a place where men greet each other with kisses, where people of all colours buy foods at outdoor markets & speak with kindness, acceptance -- where home is simply where we live & love. A dreamy ideal? Maybe. *Sigh* Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteYes, but you can see that everyone is bored out of their gourd in that picture!
ReplyDeleteYou have created the sense of contrast very well. A most authentic piece.
ReplyDeleteMy childhood family had problems too.
ReplyDeleteYou did a wonderful job expressing this
The sigh of relief is testament to you - it takes a while to accept but fitting in is really quite dull
ReplyDeleteLuckily when I migrated to Australia 50 years ago I was able to work, mix and drink with all manner of European migrants...even Scots who were the most difficult to understand!
ReplyDeleteHow easily people label others and decide what they will or will not find acceptable..sigh!! You've put this poem together excellently.
ReplyDeleteWe, too, only had an upright! We were the only Catholics in the neighborhood and that unspoken difference slowly seeped into us at the country school with the veiled comments, so I know what it's like to be a so-called foreigner. The oddball out. I also would like to be amoungst a family where the men greeted each other with kisses. At least we hug!
ReplyDeleteIntriguing reflections / reminiscences. I was going to suggest this might also suit Sumana's 'wealth' prompt at PU, but I see you have already t thought of it!
ReplyDeleteHave a good Wednesday Rall
ReplyDeleteMuch love...
Oh this is beautifully emotive and resonates on so many levels!!❤️
ReplyDeleteBeautifully rendered.
Lots of love,
Sanaa
Well constructed, Rall. I think being a minority didn't enter my mind, nor did being poor. I liked your verse,
ReplyDelete"growing up
we had no idea
what we were supposed
to be missing out on"
My greatgrandfather did Americanize our family name after having to hold off people with torches and ropes using his shotgun. I didn't know of that until I had left home.
..
I love the contrast and share the relief.
ReplyDeleteAn intriguing poem Being an immigrant as well I know the feeling of entering another world although the contrast wasn't that big for us.
ReplyDeleteThe contrasts, the contradictions, the prejudices. We seem to cycle through time and time again. Full marks for keeping your customs when it must have been tempting to 'conform'.
ReplyDeleteOoh, this piece has so much to tell!
ReplyDeletei enjoyed this...so full of detail. and of question.
ReplyDeletereminds one of times long past.
awesome write.
Hmmm, thankfully Australian society has changed for the better on some of the things you bring up, Rall. Now we have other monsters to slay...
ReplyDeleteAnd I know exactly how you felt, being the only "wog" in a class of Anglo-Australians in a small country town!
Well-penned!