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.
Tag Archives: sudden prose
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.
Sarah Stoltzfus Allen 