Two Patriots

The flag pole stands ten feet from the

glass double doors. Waving proud red

white stripes blue field of stars. Blinded

eyes we can hardly look directly at Old

Glory. The sun a different star turns away.

We two cannot open this transparent door

mere steps away from freedom. For we are

imprisoned by bars which hold our red blood

white bones. Patiently we two wait for the

flag symbol of both liberty and our state of

captivity. Sarge comes to lower her and

drapes this grand old lady across our

waiting arms a pieta. We two prisoned

pinioned step forward meeting. Almost a

minuet sans civil rights we two women,

two inmates reverently cornering smoothing

triangulating tucking all of the flag into a

neat package with no loose ends.