Flag Bearer

Via satellite, Simone Biles carries the American flag in the Rio Olympics

closing ceremonies. Outside my front window in Pittsburgh, just behind

the flatscreen TV full of athletes on parade, dozens of punk fans gather

for Skullfest at the Rock Room; one guy keeps trying to light a flag on fire —

on a short pole, maybe stolen from one of the neighbors’ porches.

Ever since I was a girl, I’ve loved to watch women’s gymnastics, even wrote my first short story from the viewpoint of a depressed gymnast whose life was regimented by the sport.

My hero in real life was a small Romanian girl, Nadia,

who now says Biles is equal to men in degree of difficulty.

The guy’s flag lights in one corner only, Sunday night (how much of a blowout

can anyone, even a punk rock anarchist, have on a Sunday night?).

I step out on the porch and politely ask him: “Is there any particular reason

why you have to do this around people’s houses?” omitting the part I want to say,

which is, “How about going out and burning flags and Donald Trump signs

in your folks’ suburban neighborhood?” Crisis averted, he moves on

down toward Herron Ave., his white skin pale against his black attire.

Biles’ mahogany skin is set off by the white shorts and top she wears

as she carries the flag toward a future where all of us matter.

We have never seen a gymnast so powerful. I thank her for her power

to carry a flag that has for so long been claimed the sole possession

of whites (except to drape over the coffins of soldiers). I’m sure the anger

of the man who tried to set the flag alight is real and well worth

understanding. At the same time, I believe that there are fights

and there are Fights, and tonight Simone Biles is my kind of fighter.