by Jenny Morelli
This week
has been tough,
a tire fire for sure.
My whole body is tired,
is nerve bundles, is electric
to the touch if you get too close.
My thoughts misfiring. Who voted who?
Who betrayed
us all?
Worries
weigh me down
like stones around my neck
and when my colleague, a fellow woman,
a fellow teacher, walked into my room, all smiles and pep, wearing normal like a coat,
I fixed my eyes
on her face, question aimed:
Who did you vote for? A question
I couldn’t launch didn’t want to know, lest I
need to sever a solid
friendship.
This week
has been tough,
my whole body’s a bundle
of nerves and it’s only escalating
hour by hour, day by day, update by update.
Can’t talk
about it or I’ll break
into tears. My fear’s an under-
current, a lit fuse that might lead to
a fire-tire explosion. Will I lose my job,
and with it,
the safe space
I’ve cultivated like a precious,
delicate garden? Will I lost my rights
as a citizen, as a women, as a writer and a teacher?
Will I soon
lose the roof above my head?
When I tire of talking,
Writing will help me float,
since words
contain magic.
Writing will help
until my words
become a band wrapped
around my throat and squeezing tight.
Writing will be
my salvation
and my words will one day
become a book, maybe the next book
banned for thinking
too much
for saying too much
for spreading hope and ideas
like seeds to be planted, another freedom
sucked away from us by a presidential parasite;
a freedom
that will take root
in the minds of those
who refuse to forget, who resolve
to fight and live on
long enough to be the change
we wish to see
in our world.
I want
to smash things,
but I’d only destroy
what I need to cherish;
want to kick a tire, but I’d only
hurt my toe.
Throwing a hatchet
sounds like fun, but it would
only dull a blade I might need to keep
sharp.
But no,
I should reserve my energy
for future battles that need fighting;
should choose
the right weapon
for what our future holds,
and words cannot be broken
like plates.
Words cannot
dull like the blade of an axe.
Words
cannot burn like a rubber tire.
Words cannot be destroyed, not once
they’re committed
to memory.
And so,
when I grow tired
of talking and breaking
into tears; when I grow tired
of fearing everything I might lose;
when everything’s been exhausted, words
will remain,
will be the one thing
I’ll never tire of; the organized
chaos of my mind
on a page
will always maintain
the energy I need to fuel
my will to live
because what we need right now
is not hate, but love without fear, without
hesitation. What we need right now is not hate
enough to fight,
but a tireless love without
getting tired, because hate is the weakness,
and love is where our strength
lies.
***
Jenny Morelli is a high school English teacher who lives in New Jersey with her husband and cat. She is often either inspired by her students or else they're triggering memories in her of when she was young and struggling with her self-confidence. She has been published in a number of literary magazines, including Spare Parts for a novel excerpt, Spillwords for several themed poems, and Bottlecap Press for her own chapbook This is Not a Drill.
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