America like you

Blue painted across the sky
reflected through the
skylines and shimmer of
the underbellies of planes,
we sit underneath it all.
I mark a spot on the ground
and tell you this is home.
Now that the red soil has
solidified all of the antiquities,
you are perfectly fine with
where you live,
where I pointed you out.

White is in your irises.
Sterling silver with white specks,
you are like an American dream.
When you move I can’t find you:
when you sleep under the stars,
when you build skyscrapers,
when you breathe under the
waves of nationalism.
You buy into the red white and blue.
The red in your cheeks,
the white in your eyes,
the blue on your lips from
sucking in the world’s air
which converts to hot air
and then is confined within a balloon
when you’re willing to let go
of the past that binds you.

You will hop into your hot
air balloon and find a home
where you can really belong.
I’ll say Godspeed as I
watch you take flight.