january 30 2017 poem

It’s so hard to write poems when I can’t feel my feelings

one year ago this morning someone I loved
last breath with my hand on their shoulder
someone who made someone who made me

shouting things and feeling like we won

in arms on a sofa
in arms in the kitchen

sitting on a bench in a stairwell
where the biennials used to be
wearing a skirt from that era
holding a three month old who held
my fingers in their mouth
our posture like a painting
for the people on their way from 3 to 4 to see,
impersonating living my idea of a perfect life
and feeling…?

shouting and cheering in the plaza
the night warm for this time of year

today i didn’t read the internet for hours
and then when i did i read someone
very intelligent saying that some people should
in fact start to make exit plans and that this is
a rehearsal for a coup and…

what we’re doing on thursday
isn’t a date thought it may look like one

the baby’s not mine

yet history is doing what it appears to be doing?

he was conscripted by the occupying army, was a police officer when the dictator was in charge
got out, got here, spoke so gently to me, died with me there