By: Lorna Wood
Now when I wake up and see the sun,
relentlessly bright on the leaves,
it glares a threat as I remember.
When I write, I must ask myself,
Will this help?
When I play music, the same.
When I teach, I know
I’m chipping away at the barricades,
but is it enough?
When I encounter people,
I must always wonder,
Did he sell us out?
Did she choose pussy grabbing?
My friends and I trade disbelief, incomprehension.
My husband keeps apologizing, as if it were his fault.
We’re all whirling downstream.
Joy and love are there somewhere, but first
We grasp each other to keep from drowning.