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We sit against the wall
In the visitor’s center
Lights dim,
We hold hands,
On a small screen a short film plays
About Francis Scott Key
And “The Star Spangled Banner”.

As the flick finished, the song plays
Filling the room with its presence.
A curtain draws back.
It wasn’t a wall,
But a floor to ceiling window
Overlooking a hillside
And a flag.

My chest tightens,
Trapping my breath.
My blood seems to surge
With the flow of the music.
The fabric is different, the stitching new,
But that is the flag,
This is the place.
I almost see ghosts of ships in the water beyond.

Still surrounded in awe
We tour Fort McHenry
Touch the cold surface of cannons;
Look at rows of cramped beds.
Beds that held men like the ones that I know,
Fathers, husbands, sons, Americans.
Maybe a farmer, a businessman, a doctor,
And thankfully,
At least one poet.
To let us remember;
To help us feel it.


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