Yesterday
I woke up wrapped in defeat. My stomach ached. My head ached. My heart ached. My
belief in American voters lay bludgeoned and bloody at my feet. I had no desire
to triage my world. Let it bleed out.
My
writing sharpened down to eight lines of poetry predicting regrets that I
realized today won’t happen. These people want to add heat to boiling wrath.
They feed their outrage with a volatile fuel of racism and misogamy. Their deity’s
failings purify him and absolve him. They expect nothing from him but chaos and
destruction.
He
empowers them because he is them.
Those
of us not in the cult can only step aside right now to keep from burning up in
the initial explosions. When you’re not in a cult, you know that there is more
than one person or one way to put out a fire.
Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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