The ship is very big,

and it rolls in the ocean swells.

November is not the best weather

for sailing across the Atlantic Ocean.

So sick, so sick—

but then, suddenly,

not sick,

and they have a nice

movie theater on the Queen Mary.

And a heated swimming pool—

for Jews and non-Jews.

Mother wakes me Thursday morning

to see the ocean on fire—

only there is no flame, no fire;

it is the harbor of New York City

ablaze with the lights of ships,

and it is the tall lady,

the Statue of Liberty,

holding her torch

and watching over us,

everyone from the Queen Mary

crowding together on the deck

to stare up at her.

Dockworkers move about on the piers—

their skin is brown, even black,

such as I have never seen before.

Giant buildings loom beyond the harbor—

these are the skyscrapers I have heard of,

taller than anything we have at home.

We are here in America.

This will be my home now.

No Nazi soldiers, but also no friends.

I am starting my new life.

Who will write in my poesiealbum?