- All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
- All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
- Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
- College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Dreaming of Red, White, and Blue
My uniform is stiff, and I can’t help feeling
 that my lips are burning on the cold metal mouthpiece;
 The village square is deserted, and every step
 on the hard, rolling bricks threatens to trip me as we march.
 
 I wait for the chance to get away, because I see
 him beckoning from the window of the china shop, 
 of the place where men are free, and all men are equal
 including minorities, Unnaturals, and women.
 
 The new American flag flying in the window is terrifying,
 a reminder that I have to flee soon, or the inspectors will
 tear my uniform off and expose me for what I am
 when they come through the center of town
 
 Inspecting for anyone who isn’t a white, straight man
 Or for people who sympathize with those people
 and when we stop for a bathroom break
 I make a break for it, casually.
 
 I stroll leisurely into the china shop, and I turn over
 the special bowl, a red, white and blue bowl
 that signals to the Russian shopkeepers.
 I’m on your side.
 
 I remember when I learned that signal from my boyfriend
 He couldn’t take me with him then,
 but he said to me, “You’re strong.
 I know you can make it.”
 
 They turn to me now. “You might be interested in our special,
 fine china,” they said to me, leading me into the back room
 just as the inspectors tore through the marching band. 
 I winced when I heard a club smack on bone
 
 I was led into a giant dome, and I gasped
 The stars twinkled in the night sky, moving on the roof
 and I watched, awestruck, as Venus travelled across the sky
 and Mars followed close behind
 
 I wandered, wondering at the sights in the dome. 
 Women wandered arm-in-arm with women, and
 some men did the same, but what got me most
 was the red, white, and blue. Everywhere. 
 
 Then I noticed the person I loved most, 
 running towards me with a case in his hand, 
 the violin I haven’t played loudly in years
 because of the ban on music. On happiness.
 
 He swung me into his arms, and we laughed
 and cried together, and he showed me the room 
 he’d been preparing;
 Just for me.
 
 My bedspread was a hand-sewn, American flag
 not the flag as it was today, but the stripes of red and white
 that everyone here loved; that is why we are here;
 to topple the fascist regime
 
 I gasped in wonder; he salvaged all my music books
 and my french horn, clarinet, viola, and cello; 
 all that was lost was my string bass, which 
 was used for firewood when they rationed us down.
 
 I pulled up the stand, fixed it in place
 pulled out a piece of music, and unpacked my violin
 which seemed to jump into my hands
 waiting desperately to vibrate with music again
 
 And I played, and I played for everyone there
 I played to spit in the face of the fascism
 ruling our country, to spit on the government.
 I played the Star Spangled Banner.

Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.
