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?