Never Out of Its Ashes/La Bandera del Odio Jamas Volara

Here where kudzu chokes up in its own green bile,
this flag is no phoenix, and never shall it rise again.

For those lynched, murdered, beaten, enslaved,
it shall never rise again. How can it from its hideous

dust? How can it from its poisoned tongue?
For those tortured, mutilated, castrated, desecrated,

it shall never fly again. How can it from its burning
crosses, its blood red curses? Not here in this branded

land, unforgiving, where memory never catches up
to its own shadows. Ask the oak tree, it will tell you

its ugly truth. Ask the bodies in the unmarked graves.
Ask the survivors of daily hatred and violence in America.

This flag can no longer fly. For its ugly history of hate.
Here where the sun always sets before you are home,

this flag shall never rise again. If you dare speak its name,
may your tongue fall out of your mouth and grow thorns

right where you stand. Never out of its own ashes shall
this flag rise again. Let in its place jasmine grow, or roses

for all those dead, in memory of how we've learned
not to trust this flag, or any flag for that matter, this one

taken down once and for all. Never allow this one fly again.

Virgil Suárez is the author of more than 15 books of poetry and prose, his most recently published poetry collection being In the Republic of Longing. His new collection, Palm Crows, is forthcoming from the University of Arizona Press, and he is completing a new collection, Sonny Manteca's Blues. He teaches creative writing and Latino/a literature at Florida State University in Tallahassee.

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