I am red white and bruised 
blue from the beating
of batons against bodies. 
I am starred with 

bullet holes, spangled with 
broken glass and tear gas, 
white milk and white tears. 
I am embroidered with fear 

that you call freedom, my stripes 
like fields of farmland,
Emmet tilled that soil with
his own blood, red pin-pricked
 
on cotton that is picked, plucked, then 
woven into cloth that forms me, 
flimsy, flown in a sky
shrouded in smoke. 

My white lines like
the string wrapped around wrists 
and wringed around necks.
I bear witness to that lynching, 

that shooting, that border
crossing turned burial––
but I bear no responsibility. 
Though I have no voice 

only grabbed glory,
see me plastered
on stolen indigenous land 
like an eviction notice. 

America, you hold me 
like a lover,
yet wield me
like a weapon.
 
I am ghosts that 
stampede above rockets 
and ruckus and riots. 
Here I emerge: 

my gleaming whiteness
proving my innocence. 
The flag murmurs and echoes

             blue from the beating
I am starred with
broken glass and tear gas 

             I am embroidered with fear 
like fields of farmland
his own blood, red pin-pricked 

             woven into cloth that forms me 
shrouded in smoke
string wrapped around wrists 

             I bear witness to that lynching 
crossing turned burial–– I have no voice 

             see me plastered
like an eviction notice like a lover 

             like a weapon 
stampede above rockets here I emerge: 

my gleaming whiteness