When you approach that standing pole
in the distance–
in a schoolyard,
at the court house,
or
palace of governors,

Don’t you dare raise a flag
rotted with bloodstains and horror,
decay and despair,
and don’t even ever come here,
come near,
with a flag,
unless that piece of cloth, by virtue of the
virtues it symbolizes,
raises a face to the light,
a child to his feet,
a mother from her knees,
declares peace in the street.

And if your color guard
makes me (feel) so insecure,
my safety unsure,
that I want to hide and not be seen,
then wash it away, the tints are
tainted, and we will sorrow for
what swirls away in the rinse.

And if your stars, emblems,
and stripes seem hopelessly
disarrayed by design,
perhaps the generals, fighters,
and document signers forgot to include
“Equal” and “All People” and
“Someday No War” in the fabric
and weave.

The last thing I need
is to see something waving
that flips me off,
deems me underclass,
hanged by the neck.

Better to keep such banners
down low and folded,
and save the parades for that
spangled day when
no hate is raining upon us.

June 26, 2015

Dedicated to Bree Newsome, Rev. Charles Moore, and all freedom fighters, but most of all in memory of these innocent believers: Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Depayne Middleton-Doctor, Clementa C. Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons, Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, and Myra Thompson.