by Rachel Ashworth
My America broke
today. My Independence
is no longer a Day celebrated—fourth
of July is a chipped picnic
plate, a firework that forgets to explode.
Riding bicycles on the street, calling
kids to play, holding hands
with a black or an Asian because
she’s been bullied, and I’ve
been bullied. Now we don’t follow
each other home to see we make
it safe, to see we go inside, to see
we made it
before the streetlights shone.
Under the weight of broken
people, under the hope of broken
dreams, under the piles of broken
promises. My America is a broken
home, and Mom and Dad have broken
vows, and we all live in a box of
Created: January 22, 2017
Rachel Ashworth is a freelance writer, mother of three boys whom she homeschools, a Christian, and proud wife of a military veteran. She lives together with her family in a country cabin in rural Missouri.