Il Senso Americano

She was beautiful. Bellissima. Absolutely gorgeous.

An indignant expression of self assurance graced her features- not angelic, no, but  handsome- like a goddess. Of what, I was still unsure, but the regality of her crown, the way her dress cascaded down the Earth below her like the waves I had grown to hate- yet these I was automatically inclined to love: She must’ve reigned over something fantastic. Perfecto.

Dawn had barely broken, yet she was somehow self-illuminated, as if the torch she held so proudly, so unyieldingly, held actual fire. In her untiring grasp burned our equally loyal passion for a country- no!- a heaven- that we had always been a part of. Because America denied no one: we had joined its fire the moment it had been ignited by our little sparks of hope, no matter how often they were diminished. No matter the months of journey aboard a smelly ship! No matter our friends and family back home! No matter the sick! No matter those whose bodies floated miles behind us, struck down by the fever of the sea! We were here! Libero! We kissed and we waved and we sang!

And oh, how stupid we were.

The End

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