Idol 3 Strikes : Week 12 “America”
Jul. 9th, 2022 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marlawentmadI keep trying to think of clever things to say about the state of things and the way that it feels. But all I have is a bitter tasting ash at the back of my throat from the raging fire in my chest. I can feel the heat eating away at my
tender hope
wavering
at the Pride parade last month,
My mouth dry as kindling.
I talked myself down from intrusive thoughts about the queers gunned down at Pulse nightclub in 2016.
That was the year I wrote a long ranting poem about the shifting threats mou ting to overwhelm the most vulnerable of our society. I think about how people kept telling me I was overreacting. I envisioned forced births, loss of autonomy, brutalies committed against black and brown humans, emboldened bigotry. Those budding fascists chanted drain the swamp, but I know the value of letting beasts lie in the muck where they belong.
I had a panic attack a couple of days ago.
The tunnel closed in like blinders,
ears ringing, a high pitched whine over
the painful thump of my heart which suddenly felt too big
for my chest, crowding out my lungs.
I cried for an entire day and when it
came time to celebrate Independence Day,
I wondered what that meant for
someone like me, who isolates
when she’s overwhelmed.
The parades were canceled around me after a shooter opened fire on the families enjoying the Fourth of July celebration. He killed seven people, and injured dozens of others, just 20 minutes from me. I sat on my balcony among my plants with the cozy companionship of my cat.
The whole rest of the day and night fireworks went off during the man hunt.
I thought,
how many people thought they heard fireworks before they laid bleeding?
My body jumped at every reverberation of the neighbor’s delight, sometimes
the cheers sounded like screams.
I think of the families running down the street, throwing their babies into dumpsters for protection. I wonder how you explain to a child what a bullet wound is and why they have one. I think about the small tender body of my partner’s toddler in my arms during the Pride parade and how happy she was when a stranger gifted her a simple string of shiny beads and a lollipop.
This is how I go to bed in America,
puffy faced, belly twisted,tension pulling
at the sinews throughout my overtaxed body,
Which remembers.
***
If you liked this entry please return after
Sunday, July 10th at 7pm ET to vote for it and read the other contestants' entries.
https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/
tender hope
wavering
at the Pride parade last month,
My mouth dry as kindling.
I talked myself down from intrusive thoughts about the queers gunned down at Pulse nightclub in 2016.
That was the year I wrote a long ranting poem about the shifting threats mou ting to overwhelm the most vulnerable of our society. I think about how people kept telling me I was overreacting. I envisioned forced births, loss of autonomy, brutalies committed against black and brown humans, emboldened bigotry. Those budding fascists chanted drain the swamp, but I know the value of letting beasts lie in the muck where they belong.
I had a panic attack a couple of days ago.
The tunnel closed in like blinders,
ears ringing, a high pitched whine over
the painful thump of my heart which suddenly felt too big
for my chest, crowding out my lungs.
I cried for an entire day and when it
came time to celebrate Independence Day,
I wondered what that meant for
someone like me, who isolates
when she’s overwhelmed.
The parades were canceled around me after a shooter opened fire on the families enjoying the Fourth of July celebration. He killed seven people, and injured dozens of others, just 20 minutes from me. I sat on my balcony among my plants with the cozy companionship of my cat.
The whole rest of the day and night fireworks went off during the man hunt.
I thought,
how many people thought they heard fireworks before they laid bleeding?
My body jumped at every reverberation of the neighbor’s delight, sometimes
the cheers sounded like screams.
I think of the families running down the street, throwing their babies into dumpsters for protection. I wonder how you explain to a child what a bullet wound is and why they have one. I think about the small tender body of my partner’s toddler in my arms during the Pride parade and how happy she was when a stranger gifted her a simple string of shiny beads and a lollipop.
This is how I go to bed in America,
puffy faced, belly twisted,tension pulling
at the sinews throughout my overtaxed body,
Which remembers.
***
If you liked this entry please return after
Sunday, July 10th at 7pm ET to vote for it and read the other contestants' entries.
https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/
