American Blessings

By

Sherry Mercieca

I make myself still to count my blessings…
the privilege of being born a blessed American.


But deep within I ask…
Is this the same blessing of those who were:
Aryan in Nazi Germany?
or Dutch colonial in South Africa?
or male in Saudi Arabia?
or White in the pre-civil war South?


How can I bear this blessing?
which feels like a scourge
under the hungry gaze of African children…
within the empty grasp of limbless landmine victims…
beside my own homeless countrymen…
among those no less deserving who have no hope…


How can I bear this blessing, which leaves me heartless,
then fills the gap with pride and patriotism?


”God Bless America” we sing, we cry,

we print on everything from t-shirts to gum wrappers.


Now I cry: “Enough!” My new cry shall be:
”God Bless Everybody Else,” for a change.
It’s not that I’m not grateful...
but gratitude seems mocking.

 

Written December 1, 2001