Instead of our usual morning ritual of whispers of “good morning” and reaching for each
other in the dark of the early morning,
I was awoken to her slow and shaky voice saying “he won.”
Silence screamed between us and all we could do was find each other’s hands, desperately interlacing our fingers together.
Knowing full well this could turn into our new daily routine, being punched in the face with headlines of more hate, more bills passed trying to remove our simple right to exist in this world.
I still made her lunch and wrote a note with a feeble promise, teetering on a lie, writing “we will be okay”.
I took myself to the mountains, hoping for subtle relief by stomping my pain and worry into the frost covered trail.
As I sat at the peak, I try to shape my mouth to form the word “how?” But all that croaks out is “help”.
Help me find a way to hold the contract of the woman who brought me into this world who loves me, yet sits at a pew each week that doesn’t view me as a person.
Or the man who raised me that loves me, yet checked yes to a box that doesn’t value daughters.
Help me find a way to hold the contrast of the dear friend that feels like a sister to me, one who I thought would defend me, yet adorns her head with that red trucker hat with pride.
Or the uncle who publicly shares his homophobia yet is still the man that once pushed me on the swings and helped teach me how to ride a horse.
So my feet pound my pain onto the trail
As I scale up the mountain’s spine
I weep sheets of tears as I run down
Tears freezing on my cheeks midway down
Like they can’t fully let go either
I pause my music to hear my breath
To feel my heart
Knowing all of our hearts
Exist in a cage
Trying to protect us
Even if our minds
Carry different definitions
Of what being alive really means.
I buy the book of poetry titled
“How to love this country”
As if it has the answers
A book I buy today,
But won’t crack open until tomorrow.
I know the sun will rise again tomorrow
I know we will move forward somehow
Fear may be poisoned in our bones as we try
But today is not that day.
Today I weep.
I wail.
I ache.
I take my face out of my phone
I turn the comments off for this piece,
Because today we both deserve at least a
sliver of peace.
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