My Flag

I took my flag to church…with chimes ringing at noon.

I took my flag to church for healing.

I placed my

red…for the color of my skin

blue…for my mother’s sadness

white…for cleansing my weak mind

upon a ancient altar.

I waited for condolense from a religion I did not choose.

I brought my own incense

my native tongue.

I placed, delicately, the love and duct tape I had been born with.

I laid out the only tools I knew how to use.

I found no tranquility among the brick and mortar confines.

I found my soul crying out for her own mind.

Wrapping my flag about me…I stammered out…wearing a rainbow of colors …I refused to become blind.

Sitting in the Back


Sitting back on a packed bag of  someone else’s laurels.

Red, White and Blue, running from itself.

A total eclipse where only the forgotten come to play.

Hanging out to dry,

threadbare woolen socks


dirty tiaras,

airing its aroma of

wine and roses.

Neighbors complaining of bi-polar posers.

Pressed on the changing winds, turned noses.