Birthed my daughters in the land, they said,

Mama, why’d you come?

Papa’s got such a heavy hand

Mama, why’d you come?

I left the warmth of Genoa

Carrying but oil and bread

Followed him I thought I loved

To share his cold hard bed.

 

Eight tall beauties round me stand asking

Mama, why’d you come?

Was New York City what you’d planned?

Mama, why’d you come?

Pietro was a journeyman

Sent to learn the carpenter’s trade

Heavy work for hardened hands

A heavy heart it made.

 

All my daughters grown and gone ask

Mama, why’d you come?

Each think it is love they’ve won

Mama, why’d you come?

Pietro had a handsome face

And passage to a foreign place

You see, he was the only man

Bound for America.

 

I hear my daughters troubled sighs, asking

Mama, why’d you come?

They too have found love has its price

Mama, why’d you come?

And now I watch Pietro sleep

As I set out oil and bread

With my love I’ve made my peace

Upon this cold, hard bed.

 

©1997 Pamela Cardullo Ortiz