An American Dream

Not long ago, that flag stretched openly to greet the tired, the poor – at least that’s what my history books said.

Now, the cloth clings, wrinkled and worn, upon the same fire escapes where my great-great grandparents once stood among the huddled masses.

Today, it seems, its stars blur and its stripes twist into shapes unrecognizable.

I wonder what it will take to unfurl the flag. And once laid bare, will its threads even hold against the wind? Or will the fabric be too far split, already torn apart?