#9
by
john d. ribó
today
a series of American flags
came off the plane
or rather, they come every day
only today we saw them
they were draped
over a set of boxes
in a grid extending
into the gaping mouth
of a cargo plane
beautifully
the august red
the white
the blue
in my mind
a parade greets them
tickertape spirals peppering
the narrow corridors
of Manhattan
young smiling
faces proudly beam
lovers embrace
this celebration will never be
in a silent, sad way
they will be folded
into triangles
and handed to one grieving