This poem is part of the special section, New Poems of U.S. History, reflecting on the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence selected by editors Carolivia Herron, Summer Tate, and Robert Bettmann. You can read more about the section on the Day Eight website here.

My sister and I always dreamed of flying
Like Icarus with his wings of wax
Watching birds from windows built by Atlas’ folly as we stitched the seams of industry
Industry
We bled for industry in our American Tower of Babel.
It ends exactly the same.
Far off places, foreign tongues. Bodies lining the ground

Man’s ambition, their foolish mission, to take this nation’s new young daughters
Early in the morning till late at night – packed and herded to our stations like animals led to slaughter.
For iron and steam fueled by a million different tongues. Coal and cloth forged by a million different hands.
For garments of our modern age – our Brave New World that has such people in it – that we couldn’t even afford.
How it all burns so quickly.
How we burn.

We blazed on New York’s streets just the year before – sisters side by side, calling for fair pay, and workers’ rights.
Cassandra crying in the night.
Now the fires of hell rise higher. Higher than the 7th floor. Higher than the ladders could reach.
Smoke fills our lungs. The sky is so clear.
Sister, I’m scared.
Sister, I don’t want to die.
Sister, hold me as we fall
As we fly.

Sophia Newcomb is a resident of Northport, Alabama, and holds an MA in History from the University of Alabama. When not writing, Sophia can be found nestled in her reading chair surrounded by books. Her work has been featured in Havik 2020, Dewpoint Literary Magazine, and You Might Need to Hear This Literary Magazine.

Featured image National Museum of the U.S. Navy, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons