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Finally Grateful for the Flag

a poem about colored fabric

Photo by James Lee on Unsplash

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Forty-four.

I saw it on the news:

The .02 lb bullet burst in
and out again
spinning and spraying.

The 200 lb son-turned-soldier
fell back, briefly flying
in chaos confusion and bliss
before body hit ground and dirt and blood mixed.

His own heart pumping him out
alarm bells ringing
in his eyes and his mouth.

Hands that aren't his
fabric taught, tight and getting tighter and tighter and tighter
until it hurts
but stops the worst.

Less of him spilling out
onto earth. Looking down
at the pressure and pain
he sees the colors his country claims.

At the same
time somewhere else
the bombs are afraid to fall
on the fleeing — because the bomb droppers are seeing
fabric a certain countries colors.

I thank the flag

for how it helps.



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likes / wants / needs to write poetry apparently