The creation of this poem came about as I attempted to conflate both the predominantly African refugees’ experience in Sicily, those to which things happen, with that of the researcher, the one who watches, waits, and records. Many of the refugees endure seemingly endless and horrendous sea voyages to arrive on the island. One can see the refugees everywhere, in so many different settings, as they attempt to negotiate their new home. One never really belongs. Neither they nor I. The title of the poem is the Italian word for "flag" and is my attempt to show the reality of the new arrivals: they will learn the Italian language and develop additional loyalties, while remaining true to their homeland. The disenfranchised, the forgotten, and the displaced are the predominant themes in my work and if one looks closely, one can see it everywhere. For this poem, I sifted through copious amounts of data and extracted themes, recorded bits of overheard conversation, read "official " reports of what is being done for the refugees by agencies contracted to do so and then connected them with my own feelings of my work. This is a pastiche or bricolage reflecting the fragmented process of not only recording the daily mental and physical situation of the refugees, but my own insecurities and, sometimes, guilt in doing so. Laurel Richardson has spoken of (lyric) poetry’s ability to "concretize emotions, feelings and moods—the most private kind of feelings—so as to create experience itself to another person." My aim is to explicate my and the refugees experience(s) in the most truthful and artful way possible.