You were speaking to my aunt
begin: the lady

Joseph Bruchac is a poet and writer of books relating to the indigenous peoples of the Americas. In this

poem, a speaker describes their relatives coming to America through Ellis Island, a popular gateway for

immigrants. As you read, take notes on the speaker’s feelings about America.

Beyond the red brick of Ellis Island

where the two Slovak children

who became my grandparents

waited the long days of quarantine,1

after leaving the sickness,

the old Empires of Europe,

a Circle Line ship slips easily

on its way to the island

of the tall woman, green

as dreams of forests and meadows

waiting for those who’d worked

a thousand years

yet never owned their own.

Like millions of others,

I too come to this island,

nine decades the answerer

of dreams.

Yet only part of my blood loves that memory.

Another voice speaks

of native lands

within this nation.

Lands invaded

when the earth became owned.

Lands of those who followed

the changing Moon,

knowledge of the seasons

in their veins.

Explanation: