Stacey Lynn Brown

In Springfield, Oregon, I hung the state

of Georgia flag above my bed,

remembering what my father said

just before I left:

If you can’t sleep

with red clay beneath your feet,

at least you can see

the Stars and Bars above.

A collector’s item now, unfurled it meant

making please understand me love

to men who never stood a chance

beneath its long-dead, distant light.