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Posts Tagged ‘America’




rummaging in my heart—
a thread worn flag, a scrap of anthem,
a rousing desire to serve

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I am your daughter.

I have marched in your main street parades,

and in my yard I fly your flag.

I pledge allegiance and sing your anthem.

My uncle and grandfather fought in your wars.

My other grandfather came to your shores

as a young boy and stayed to raise your powerlines.

I climb your mountains and work your soil

and pick up trash on your highways.

I love you, America.

I vote in your polls and raise your children

and volunteer in your schools.

And because you are America,

I pay your taxes and call my senators

and protest in your streets.

I read your poets, relearn your history,

travel your back roads and cheer your teams.

You made me, America.

And I pray for you. And I pray in the way I choose to pray

because we can do that in America.

America, did we forget

our differences are what make us great?

Remember, America, the dream!

The wind is fierce today,

and I love the way it inspires the flag to wave into life.

Whatever is fierce around us is an invitation

to show up. Whatever is difficult

is a call to bring our best.

Whatever is uncertain is a chance

to be clearer in our thoughts, more generous in our speech.

America, it’s not a president

that makes our country great—

it’s us. How we treat each other.

How we meet our mistakes.

How we become the wind that raises the flag.

How our own hearts must be the home of the brave.

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For your birthday, I’m sending you

the sunflowers in my garden,

which is to say, I send you

something unfinished,

something with so much room

left to grow.

America, I send you

the space above the sunflowers

a space they will reach into.

There is so much promise

of beauty in you, America,

so much blossoming yet to do.

America, you’re right if you think this is symbolic.

So I send you the sunflower’s roots, too.

We all know what happens without them.

America, here’s what I most want to say—

I believe in you, America, and all the hands

that tend your soil. Happy Birthday.

It’s time to get out of your own shade.

Happy Birthday. You’ve got this.  

Home of the brave.

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Follow the Lead

 

 

a

single

pencil

can

make

a

line

thirty-

five

miles

long,

and

I

wonder

how

many

miles

of

poems

per

pencil—

and

wouldn’t

it

be

amazing

to

have

poems

scrawled

all

across

America—

323.1

million

pencils

worth—

all

of

them

sharpened

not

to

point

at

each

other

but

to

write

the

words

that

must

be

said,

telling

our

stories

and

leading

us

in

looping

lines

ever

closer

to

each

other

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When I was a girl, I learned to pledge allegiance

to your flag. I remember saying the words

 

in school every morning, led by a teacher’s voice

made tinny by the loudspeaker.

 

I stood behind my desk, small hand on my heart,

and I said the rote words

 

not because I understood them,

not because I meant them, but because

 

that is what we did—like brushing

our teeth before bed or like kneeling in church

 

when everyone else kneels, or like saying

I’m fine when someone asks How are you.

 

America, I don’t remember when it was

I began to cry each time I say the pledge,

 

my throat tight, my lips quivering.

Now, I feel the weight of every word,

 

imagine all the blood that is lost for you,

imagine how beautiful your dream is,

 

know how blemished it’s become.

America, are you possible? America,

 

I am with those who believe in you.

America, here is my voice, here

 

are my hands. Use them. I don’t know

where to start except to offer you my love

 

and mean it. America, when will we learn

we are all in this together?

 

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