From Here

It’s hard to know exactly where to go from here.

Where to go when the majority of those who could be bothered to vote chose an imbecilic power monger over the most qualified candidate in history.

Where to go as a woman that will feel safe after a decision like this.

Where to go online that doesn’t devolve into doom scrolling, rage posting, and absolute disconnected despair.

From here in my oversized chair under my cardinal printed blanket in my silent lamp-lit living room where no television plays because we simply aren’t ready, from here, I have few answers.

I can say in the past few days I’ve been comforted by hallway conversations with likeminded colleagues who are furious and dumbfounded. I have been humbled by check-in texts and messages from family and friends. I have been deeply moved by my former students, from 18-34, who have sent messages of solidarity and love.

We are not alone, but it seems we are the exception rather than the rule.

Two weeks ago my darling M and I got away to Arkansas for a quick trip to a favorite restaurant, a museum, and time alone together. I began this poem on that trip and finished it tonight.

From here, I give you this. It is not enough. Nothing is enough. But this is a beginning.

“Four Bodies”

In less than a mile
down highway 49,
four bodies flank the road
just over the Arkansas border.

Three deer — one only a fawn —
and another, what? a coyote? dog?
so long left on the shoulder
it has turned black, become
an unrecognizable mass
that, once, drew breath,
squinted into late afternoon sun,
wondered what it would find
just across the road.

I am heartbroken by this loss.

White-fingered birch trees
reach skyward to mark this place.

Here, they rustle-sing, here
is where we lost them,
these animals who were
once free, who belonged
to this forest, to this earth,
to each other.

We bear witness.

We remain.