Finally Grateful for the Flag

Summary

The poem "Finally Grateful for the Flag" reflects on the paradoxical role of a nation's flag in the context of war, where it symbolizes both the loss of life and the protection of it.

Abstract

"Finally Grateful for the Flag" is a poignant poem that delves into the complex emotions surrounding the symbolism of a flag during wartime. It describes the tragic moment when a soldier is fatally wounded, his lifeblood spilling onto the ground as he takes his last look at the colors of his nation's flag. The flag, represented in the tight fabric applied to his wound, is both a source of pride and a stark reminder of the pain and suffering inflicted by war. Simultaneously, the poem acknowledges the flag's unintended role in deterring further violence, as enemy forces hesitate to bomb areas adorned with this national emblem. The poem concludes with a note of gratitude for the flag's dual ability to inspire and protect, even amidst the destruction of war.

Opinions

The poem conveys a sense of irony in how the flag, a symbol of national pride, is present in the moment of a soldier's death, juxtaposing glory with the grim reality of war.
It suggests that the flag has a protective quality, both physically as a makeshift bandage and symbolically as a deterrent to enemy bombers.
The author expresses a deep appreciation for the flag, recognizing its power to evoke unity and safeguard lives in the midst of conflict.
There is an underlying critique of the tragic cost of war, as the flag's colors are seen by a dying soldier, highlighting the personal sacrifice made by soldiers for their country.
The poem implies that the flag's influence extends beyond the battlefield, affecting the decisions and actions of combatants, potentially sparing innocent lives.

a poem about colored fabric

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Forty-four.

I saw it on the news:

The .02 lb bullet burst in and out again spinning and spraying.

The 200 lb son-turned-soldier fell back, briefly flying in chaos confusion and bliss before body hit ground and dirt and blood mixed.

His own heart pumping him out alarm bells ringing in his eyes and his mouth.

Hands that aren't his fabric taught, tight and getting tighter and tighter and tighter until it hurts but stops the worst.

Less of him spilling out onto earth. Looking down at the pressure and pain he sees the colors his country claims.

At the same time somewhere else the bombs are afraid to fall on the fleeing — because the bomb droppers are seeing fabric a certain countries colors.

I thank the flag

for how it helps.