Dear America,
today I will parade
not on your main streets
but mostly alone amongst
your aspen groves,
will praise your purple
mountain’s majesty,
your scarlet gilia,
your vast blue spruce.
I will praise the public land
beneath my feet
where someday soon
hawk’s wings will rise
from untouched duff,
and I will glory in
your spacious skies,
how quiet they can be.
America, just today
one of your sons
arrived with a giant
bouquet of rhubarb
he cut from his own wild yard—
a small proof of what
your finest citizens do—
find ways to support
other citizens,
no matter their color,
no matter their stripes.
America, in my one-woman
parade, with every step,
I am cheering for you.