A Death in the Family

She lived a good life
Protected and nurtured us
Now lost forever

Yet birds keep flying
The sun continues to shine
Heedless of her death


Our grief is immense
Life, though, continues apace
While this old world turns


I’ve been asked repeatedly today how I feel about Trump winning the election. Truthfully I feel like there has been a death in my immediate family. Ultimately I know we will be alright, but right now I’m experiencing a deep grief.

I spent a sleepless night in which my thoughts circled relentlessly like a dog chasing its tail, and I recalled reading Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s book, On Death and Dying, in which she introduced the five stages of grief:

  1. denial, 
  2. anger, 
  3. bargaining, 
  4. depression, and 
  5. acceptance

From my psychiatry courses in college (where a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing) I remember that one can cycle through these stages in a variety of ways unique to each individual. 

I ran through denial pretty quickly. The numbers were there. And while it was heartening to note that Hillary won the popular vote, Trump undeniably took the electoral college votes. 

Anger is my current companion. I’m not angry at Trump or his supporters so much as I’m angry at their willful ignorance. They don’t care that he has no real plans to implement his policies. They like him because he’s not a career politician, and he isn’t politically correct. 

I’m angry at the registered voters who just didn’t show up. I’m angry at those who used their votes to protest by voting for non-viable candidates. I’m angry at the subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle voter suppression tactics that were employed in several states.

I can’t imagine there’ll be much bargaining involved, but depression is anger’s little sister and I’m going to do everything in my power to avoid going down that rabbit hole. Today I smiled at everyone I saw and hugged a woman at work who supported Trump. Little steps.

Acceptance? That’s going to take awhile. But I won’t be like those conservatives who disrespected President Obama and actively rooted for his failure these past eight years. I’m going to support Trump as our president while continuing to fight for the rights of all those living in our country: health care, reproductive rights, racial and gender equality, etc. 

I know other bloggers have addressed this much more eloquently than I, but I think the healing starts when we lay it all on the line. This piece was part of my healing process. Maybe it will help someone else along the way.

Peace, people.

Red Wine And Solitude

I might get drunk tonight
on red wine and solitude
lost in the depths of a
full-bodied zin and the whir
of a palm-leaved fan.

Disappointment weighted
afternoon, damn fool who let
you in? Now I feel the scorched
earth aftermath while he eats a
well done steak.

A better woman might have
walked away, held her tongue,
but she does not live here.
I said my piece, now there’s
a consequence.

Pardon me, I’ll be in my room.

Keeping the Peace

Heated arguments arise with names called and choices questioned. I hold my own 

Most of the time, keeping a cool head even when others seek to goad me into ugly 

Banter about this candidate or that policy. Occasionally though my cool demeanor

Slips away leaving righteous anger shooting from my fingertips. Sarcasm

Dripping from my well-schooled tongue. Oh, ye of closed minded beliefs, heed me!

I am Fury. A woman unsubmissive, unintimidated, unrepentant. Ultimately

Remorseful and exhausted. So much for keeping to the high road.

Peace, people.

  

A couple of strong-willed women just hanging out.
 

Words of Power

Roaring down highways
Barbecuing landmarks
Chastising Girl Scouts
Emulating despots.

‘Round every corner
Evil doers lurk
Hiding their enmity
‘Neath smarmy smirks.

How do they sleep nights?
Minds filled with bile
Greed over principle
Seduction using guile.

In this topsy turvy world
Where hatred disguised as good
Seeks dominion o’er the masses
Words of power are my shield.

  

Sleep Patterns

i’ve been accused now
by the abrupt
no kiss good night

the ensuing silence may be
construed as rest
or as fomentation.

too still, no easy patterns
of inhalations, no
gentle exhalations.

the clock measures time in
unslept minutes
awaiting judgement.

when the eruption occurs
i can think only of
future accountability.

i seem to have gotten it,
every bit of it,
wrong yet again.

no easy answers and now
i feel damned
either way.

we really are much too
old to live like this,
i sigh.

the sigh sets him off
anew, fuel to his
unspent fire.

sleep finally intrudes;
we can only say
so much.

  
Peace, people.