I’m still struggling

Like a child who is learning about death

Or an unexplainable tragedy

I’ve been trying to find a reason:

What did I do?

What didn’t I do?

The wine I chose on election night

On November 8, 2016

Was called

Pessimist.

I’m sorry.

I should have chosen

19 Crimes

Or

The Spanish one with the cool label.

I should have forwarded

That Messenger chain letter

Instead of ignoring it.

This election I wasn’t

With child

Or with a new baby at home,

As I was

For the previous two.

When my babies were babies

I cried hopeful tears

For their futures.

This time I’m crying

Another kind of tears

They’re hot and stinging

They are, all at once

Horrified

Disappointed

Heartbroken

Angry.

I’m teaching my babies

What racism is,

What the word nigger means,

And trying to explain to them

At the same time

Why half of their country

Is championing

Hatred.

I only wish I had an answer.

kids-in-woods

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