To the mother trying to juggle three kids,
hustling to soccer practice with love in her grip,
know that every mile you drive on weary roads
carries the heart of a nation, strong and bold.
To the trans man, navigating the maze
of doctors and forms, facing endless delays,
remember your journey is sacred and true—
you belong here, just as much as we all do.
To the miner out of work, hands calloused and worn,
fighting to keep food on the table once more,
your strength fuels the fire in our shared soul—
you are as much America as rock and coal.
To the immigrant building their life brick by brick,
learning the language, making dreams stick,
know that each step you take carves new ground,
and in your courage, our freedoms resound.
To the Indigenous woman who stands through the night,
surviving battles that stay out of sight,
you carry the spirit of those who were first,
resilient and rising, a gift, a rebirth.
To the husband who grieves by an empty chair,
facing the loss that feels so unfair,
know that your sorrow is shared by us all—
you remind us to stand, to answer the call.
To the teen who has tried to escape all the pain,
only to find hope in the sunlight again,
you are the light breaking through darkest nights,
and your bravery gives others the courage to fight.
So to every voice and every face,
each different struggle, each unique grace,
remember this land is made of all of us,
woven in struggle, bound by trust.
No matter where you come from,
no matter where you've been,
we rise together, again and again.
We are the stories, the scars, and the songs,
the striving, the dreaming, where each soul belongs.
No matter what, remember, we stand—
American heart, American hand.
Bernard Alvarez
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