woke up at 6:33 a.m.; tumbled out of bed, stumbled to the kitchen, but it was to take meds that allow me to function and not to pour myself a cup of ambition; turned on the ice maker; listened to the quiet of my little house for a total of four minutes before I heard my youngest’s alarm; opened bedroom doors and yelled for the occupants to go pee; scrolled past headline after headline that made fear tighten my lungs, again; peeked into bedrooms to make sure everyone was doing their thing; checked the weather app on my phone and thought about global warming; decided that sixty-five degrees (in January) would be warm enough to wear a linen shirt; drove past three MAGA flags, four churches, and the police station; thought about ordering Mexican food for dinner tonight; wondered if the owners and workers of our Mexican restaurant are afraid right now; settled in at work with my coffee; scrolled a few headlines; continued being an American in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave; ate lunch while scrolling social media; watched Renee Nicole Good, another American born in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave, get executed by an ICE agent; sat in shock while comment after comment tried to spin her as a domestic terrorist; fixed a cup of coffee; blinked; blinked; swallowed; blinked; popped a violently sour candy into my mouth hoping to trick my nervous system and stop a panic attack; crunched the candy, popped another; blinked; swallowed; took a deep breath; found out that Renee was a mother and a poet; sobbed; went to the bathroom to wash my face; sat down at my desk and tried to get back to work; cried off and on the rest of the afternoon; prayed for my country and the world; made a donation and signed a petition; left a message with my representatives; put letters to representatives in the mail; blinked; called my sons as soon as they got home from school; felt helpless; drove home. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Category Archives: lyric essay
On This Normal Wednesday, I
woke up at 6:15; hit the snooze button twice; threw the covers back at 6:33; untangled Elijah’s rats’ nest head; fought with Elijah about his rats’ nest head; joked about Silas being the tallest one in the family; packed a lunch for myself; made coffee; gave up on my hair; prayed my children would be safe while they were away from me; reminded myself to be silent and know that God is God; wondered if maybe I’m wrong about God; chose to wear the turquoise earrings mom got for me on her trip to the Grand Canyon; tamped down the rage a Facebook post threatened to unleash; drove to work; watched the valley full of mist, the Methodist Church’s steeple and a cell phone tower the only things visible; crunched numbers and edited correspondence at my day job; tamped more rage down into the cave of my chest; wondered if my Jesus and my friend’s Jesus even know each other; thought about flipping tables; recited every Bible verse I could think of, each word a balm that somehow set my soul on fire; tamped down that fire because I’ve been taught to respect my elders; wondered how those elders helped raised me and how we ended up so different; wondered if those elders deserve my respect; read a headline about a school shooting; prayed my children would be safe; read the updates on the children who were injured in the last school shooting; prayed that my little town is as safe as everyone says; read a headline that a political activist had been shot on a college campus; tamped down the rage; cryed to my boss; tamped down the rage; wrote an essay about gun violence and the church; tamped down the rage; made coffee; ate lunch; put my hair in a ponytail; discussed Elijah’s progress with his occupational therapist; sent an email to a publisher; drove home; tamped down the rage; refused to talk about the events of the day because, what do you even say; tamped down the rage; looked up verses about pride; looked up verses about government; looked up verses about living in a broken world; put my children to bed; prayed that the Morgan County Schools in West Liberty, Kentucky are safer than all the other the schools in any other part of the country; watched a video of a political activitist being gunned down; watched people call him a martyr; ate dinner; took my meds; regretted watching a video of a political activist being gunned down; washed my face and brushed my teeth; crawled into bed; wept and knew
that Jesus did, too.
On November 6, 2024 I
woke up exhausted; stared at the ceiling for a full ten minutes before I reached for my phone to check the results; checked the results; stared at the ceiling for another ten minutes; got my children ready for school; thought about how people want to defund the department of education; got my children on the bus; thought about how the president-elect made fun of a disabled reporter and told his own nephew that he should let his special needs child die instead of wasting more money; fixed my usual quad shot latte; let the faces of family flick through my mind, knowing they have voted for someone who makes fun of people like my children and thinks they should die; thought about what to wear for the day; chose a black dress with green and white sneakers – mourning with a touch of whimsy (?), defiance (?), and hope (?) (I’m not sure about hope); thought about Russia and Ukraine and Israel and Palestine; took a long shower and used all the special, smell good products; dried my hair straight and put it in a bun; took my meds and doubled the anti-anxiety pill; filled up my water bottle; got dressed; cried a little bit when I couldn’t find the shoes that I wanted; cried even more when I found them; thought about what will happen if the conservatives get everything they want; thought about the art we might not get because artists are too tired right now; thought about the art we will get – artists digging deep and crying out; remembered that horrible recording where the president-elect bragged about grabbing a woman by the pussy; remembered him saying that he would protect women whether they wanted it or not; got in my car to go to work; found my daisy earrings in the pocket of my purse and put them on to remind me that hope, and daisies, can grow wherever you plant them, beside the road on rocky shoulders and in fields of rich, good soil; drove to work. Welcome to a new day.
Sarah Stoltzfus Allen 