When I Wave My Flag Please Unduerstand...
Kathryn Swanson
We called irises "flags"
when we were young
waving patriotically
beside the stone foundations
of our lives
dancing along the
delicate edges of spring
rising glorious
from moist rich dirt
over green spikes
sharp as swords
flying purple beauties
of my childhood
standing for hope . . . and life
We call flags "irises"
when we mature
and I dream of
planting bulbs instead of bombs
in all the gulfs
of our lives
to wave sprightly
hopefully
prophetically
along the cumbling edges of despair
desert bloom, perhaps,
harbinger of global garden
rising glorious
from killing sand
over bayonnet leaves
sharp as swords
When I wave my flag
it is an iris
it is a dream . . .
my persistent dream . . .
of my beloved mother-fatherland
refusing war . . . and waging peace
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