Thursday, November 10, 2016

Post Election

Brave enough to admit
I've gone into hiding,
retreated to bathrobe and tissues,
like I've got a head cold.
You know when you're sick
and feel like your looking
at life through a translucent veil?

Maybe you're not really there.
Maybe you're supposed to detach
from life's thick ooze
in order to recover. Is
that what I'm doing?
I don't feel saved.

I'm afraid. See, what
I used to use as perspective
was this: be grateful.
You could be living
in a Middle Eastern country,
bombs and fire and sadness
emptying cities, souls and bellies,
the razed skeletons of buildings,
civilization gone to hell.

Clearly I'm depressed.
And for once or twice, it's not about
my brain imbalance or hormones.
It's about anxiety, real fear, justified.
It's about the next civil war.

My daughter's been predicting it for years,
starting at the old age of fifteen.
I didn't think I'd see it in my lifetime,
or hers. Maybe her kids', our lifeline
cut short by a madman's victory.

I know. Don't let him win.
Don't let hatred, bigotry, anger in.
You've been here before, I say,
and unless you want to be a burned out church,
I suggest you get off Facebook and try to chill out.

Folks, I have not had to take Klonopin in ages.
I'm not even sure it would work.
The pills have expired. Maybe it's better
to feel the same pain as my brothers and sisters
who are poets and lovers, gentle people,
openly hurt people, not just from this but from birth.

Our new president mocks us. Me.
Female with disabilities, mother of girls,
friend and family of gay and bisexual couples,
appreciator of diversity and buddies who speak Spanish.
We're in for oppression.

I'm sorry. I wish I could be more optimistic.
I wish I could spread kindness and peace
like I see some people doing. But I can't.
Because right now, I feel the same way
I felt when my mother died. You know
how it feels when the soul of
someone you love just ups and leaves?

Yeah. That's what's going on.
 I grieve. Here in my bathrobe,
solo in my home as the rest of my family
courageously takes on the outside world.
So I'm a coward, at least for a little while.

Don't pray for me. Don't bother.
I'll be okay. Send your prayers global.
Put them on a plane to circle the planet,
and hope it doesn't run out of fuel.
Because that's the last thing we need.
Another wreck.

Katherine Gotthardt
Copyright 2016

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