The Autobiography Of America
Like I said, it’s just so sad. I mean there are glad tidings too, don’t get me wrong, but when you really see it up close, what does it look like to you? What do you see?
She said, I see a cemetery where all the headstones have been turned into skyscrapers filled with white smiling faces. I see them looking down on me, and the ground beneath my feet is red. There is neither justice here nor peace, she said, and If we cry aloud that bread alone is not enough, they feed us lies instead. When the mob arrives, wrapped in flags and bigotry, I begin to run. The sky is dark tonight with falling rain. The road is littered with our dead. My mind is like a compass rose. It knows exactly where I live and how my mother always said: There is no place like home, my child, until they come to burn it down.