Wednesday, January 20, 2010

I’m not proud to be an american

she said, in that way one speaks
to get a reaction, or the way I titled
this poem so you’d keep reading.
I’m not proud, she said, because I
had nothing to do with it,

deftly putting patriotism in
a new light, a search light, under
the bare bulb of interrogation.

What, then, can I be? Thankful:
that I was born in a South Texas
town named for the Body of Christ
and not Port-au-Prince; pride,
perhaps, would be easier

because it requires nothing
of me. Gratitude guides me to
share what was never mine.

Peace,
Milton

3 comments:

lynnette said...

this is a beautiful reminder. let us be thankful boys and girls. and generous ones, too.

L.L. Barkat said...

I don't want to *say* anything about this poem, because I just want to let it speak without me adding something.

But I liked it a lot.

Phoenix-Karenee said...

Oh, I do like this thought. So true.