Looking out the window, the monsoon

wind raging above the waves, blowing

the smell of the Indian Ocean through

the island of Weh and into my room,

slamming doors and windows, snaps shut

the daily session “English Lessons for You”

from Radio Australia, crushing my world

a sixth grader acquainted with dreams.

There …

right at the end of an alley, the moon

rising above the Jacaranda tree

lightening the heart of a lonely boy.

Under the Stormking light, I seize each

word with anguish, stare half-eyed at

misspelled words in a time so desperate

of hope, familiar to a life of simple tasks

and habits, count fallen coconuts wet

with rain.

On the way to school, I hold onto a dream

to visit New York featured on a “Budget Travel”

magazine left on a bamboo bench. Imagine,

walking along those avenues, ablaze with lights

the moon perched on a giant billboard, inches

from the clouds, advertising American candies

in all colors and flavors, beckoning me at the edge

of my sleep.

I share the magazine with children

in the neighborhood, we look at the page

wipe our eyes in disbelief, let out a wild cry:

“Alo! Alo! Amerika!,” “Alo! My Friend!”

We set our hearts, leap into the world,

winging our way to Amerika.

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