the flag
We all turned to watch you hang at Guantanamo Bay. Your body swaying in the wind–limp and alive at once–you hang. When you finally die, we’ll spread your ashes in the soil of the world. You used to tell me late at night, whisering while I was fast asleep, ‘I love so many people and countries, I do.’ I heard you and I watched as a red cross van in camouflage pumped your colors into the veins of others’ infrastructures. Blood transfusions save lives, you said. I watched you hang at Guantanamo Bay and realized you were lifeless. My blood cannot save you.