New England, 1947

She turned to show him
just from where she'd jump.
The flag hung loosely
around her neck.
That was the only picture
he had courage to take
of what this woman called
heroic.

The New York Times would report
she had hired a photographer
to capture the moment. The man,
her son, would be accused
as an accomplice
in what they called
her untimely death.

And this photograph would be published.
The image of his mother
hand pointing, focus in her wrinkled mouth,
printed. A caption beneath
would quote the photographer
to say that he had let her jump.
She was far too old. And he was far too tired.
And some people would think
that they'd have done the same
all the while pretending to be disgusted
by this son's hardened heart.

Later, her death would be called political,
if only because of the laughter
in her lifeless eyes.
Her body, twisted together with the flag,
as if dancing, or loving
was almost pornographic:
cold and frail, her skin the color
of starvation. People would pause
and shake their heads
before continuing their breakfast
as they read their newspapers
about the sad, old woman
convinced that the American Flag
could make her fly.