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Land of the Free
When I see that flag--
its red and white alternating
in hypnotic parallels originating
from a blue box of geometric stars--
I think of death, destruction,
heartache.
Not the tragedy of a crumbling,
burning building, but the five hundred
years of systematic killing--
eliminating and exterminating
without care for age, gender, status--
because they’re not people,
just savages
who revere the Earth, Life,
and live with Nature,
uncivilized.
When I see that flag--
representing a glorious nation
built on the sweat
of black slaves,
the blood of this land’s
first inhabitants,
tears--
I feel ashamed to be white,
American, and I can’t
place my hand over my pounding
heart to sing of
the “land of the free”--
because we’ve never been free,
never been brave,
never been able to look
beyond ourselves
to understand
what they see--
arrogance of broken
treaties and stolen land,
hypocrisy of slavery
despite our revolution
against unjust rule,
greed, vanity,
shallowness.
Yet you want us
to stand tall,
shed tears, praise
that flag and bless
that country,
when all I can say is
what is so worthy
of blessing?
© 2001-2002 Ann Lesley Hamvas
