Where do I or any of us fit in relation to national symbols? I started thinking about the stripes as furrowed fields and the red as blood that had been spilled in those fields to build a country, death for others’ wealth, food that didn’t go on the tables of the slaves, in their bellies. And the white seemed to be the whitewashed history, as if this country and all of us who have benefitted from the slave labor of generations, as if we were clean and pure. The white was a lie. Unfinished and deeply broken. And so the colors are raw canvas and linen, earth tones and stains. A flag broken, just like we are.