My phone alarm buzzes, jostling
me from sleep. I silence it, check
my inbox: The Times’ subject line is
a gut punch.
I want to silence this news, too.
Tossing my phone aside, I bury
myself under the weighted blanket.
If I just stay here I can pretend that,
for once, a woman triumphs.
Somewhere else in America
someone else woke up, checked her email
and smiled. In her eyes, his election is
a warm hug.
Where I see harm,
she sees hope — the promise of prosperity.
Why do we see things so differently?
“Mommy?” my two-year-old approaches
my bedside, rubbing his eyes. “Come here,” I beckon,
wrapping my arms around his soft, warm body,
Cocooned beside me, he drifts back to sleep.
How will I teach him to be kind in a world
that rewards deceit and greediness?
It’s the same question I ask myself daily, yet
this morning it feels urgent, I worry
this country will become more dangerous
for many. Holding my son close, I pray
for peace, for our leaders, for our nation.
Finally, I rise and open
the blinds,
gray clouds envelope the sky.
My boy rustles in the bed; soon I’ll serve
oatmeal and fold laundry, he’ll build towers
and paint pictures, we’ll read stories and find
shelter in each other.
No, I can’t pinpoint the Light — not today —
still, I trust it’s here, shining
within us.
Erin Strybis 