A man roams the streets with a basket <br />of freestone peaches hollering, "Peaches, <br />peaches, yellow freestone peaches for sale." <br /> <br />My grandfather in his prime could outshout <br />the Tigers of Wrath or the factory whistles <br />along the river. Hamtramck hungered <br /> <br />for yellow freestone peaches, downriver <br />wakened from a dream of work, Zug Island danced <br />into the bright day glad to be alive. <br /> <br />Full-figured women in their negligees <br />streamed into the streets from the dark doorways <br />to demand in Polish or Armenian <br /> <br />the ripened offerings of this new world. <br />Josef Prisckulnick out of Dubrovitsa <br />to Detroit by way of Ellis Island <br /> <br />raised himself regally to his full height <br />of five feet two and transacted until <br />the fruit was gone into those eager hands. <br /> <br />Thus would there be a letter sent across <br />an ocean and a continent, and thus <br />would Sadie waken to the news of wealth <br /> <br />without limit in the bright and distant land, <br />and thus bags were packed and she set sail <br />for America. Some of this is true. <br /> <br />The women were gaunt. All day the kids dug <br />in the back lots searching for anything. <br />The place was Russia with another name. <br /> <br />Joe was five feet two. Dubrovitsa burned <br />to gray ashes the west wind carried off, <br />then Rovno went, then the Dnieper turned to dust. <br /> <br />We sat around the table telling lies <br />while the late light filled an empty glass. <br />Bread, onions, the smell of burning butter, <br /> <br />small white potatoes we shared with no one <br />because the hour was wrong, the guest was late, <br />and this was Michigan in 1928.<br /><br />Philip Levine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-new-world/
