Upbeat
Post-election, with a nod to Yeats.
everything has begun turning,
not in the widening gyre
as previously feared
but with a whispered
maybe it’s going to be okay.
winter is coming, but on the other side,
spring.
things were so bleak
we self-medicated,
checked the expiration date on our passports,
vexed ourselves into nightmare sleep
listening to npr,
but the fever pitch
of freaking the fuck out
proved unsustainable
for pretty much everyone.
all that is holy in us
believes in baby clothes
and new love;
all that is holy in us
rejoices, having traveled so far
between hopelessness to hope,
only to discover the distance between hope and hopeful
fits inside a clasped hand,
or this very short poem.