Patchwork Flag

To be American is to

Listen to the rain fall and to

Let it wash over our faces, just

As all who came before us did

(not just the founding fathers did but

the children, the mothers, those

still fighting for their freedom

today) for they will be heard as

Their voices soar and dance

Through the thunder;

It’s to see the cracks crumbling in

concrete once paved by by those who

Thought they would never fall, and

To trace dirt-soiled fingers over the crevices,

Planting tentative drops of our hearts (most

Of all our voices), watching

With wonder as our new day blooms

(from the broken foundation)

With our dreams as we

Wear them like capes (our

Own flags);

It’s to sew those capes together, to

Patchwork the rags (worn and

Worn again with pride that has

Faded and frayed but begs to

Become whole again) of a banner

That lays  star-spangled and

Striped with declarations that we will

Edit with snippets of our own flags to

Build a tapestry (with stitches of

promises and scraps of

Dreams) that we (us

Americans) will wrap around our shoulders and

Wear with pride;

To be American is to

Believe in where we’re going (and

Where we have been) and lift the heart

Of this (our) country up (with

All of the flowers we have planted

Within the veins), hoping

For a greater future but still watching

As the sun rises every morning (just

As our new dawn

Will do the same)