Whatever your politics and wherever you live, this week’s American election is something you’ve been inundated with stories and opinions about. On election day, I heard from friends in India, France, and UK about how shocked they were. My Facebook feed–it is limited to those I am in person friends with–is full of sorrow, anger, horror, and, yes, joy. I have friends who are now seriously planning to leave the country and friends who feel this election will serve our nation well. Most of the latter are religious and anti-abortion or are immigrants themselves. 

We have no choice but to move forward. I am someone who hopes for the best, prepares for the worst, and believe that the future will be different but OK. I’m going to continue to work to create communities where all feel welcome and all are willing to work together–I really don’t see any other way to live. Oh, and I’m going to give as many as possible hugs and support. 

Since I can’t actually hug you all, today I offer a poem of sorrow, hope, and compassion. 

An Old Story by Tracy K. Smith (2018)
 
We were made to understand it would be
Terrible. Every small want, every niggling urge,
Every hate swollen to a kind of epic wind.
 
Livid, the land, and ravaged, like a rageful
Dream. The worst in us having taken over
And broken the rest utterly down.
 
                                         A long age
Passed. When at last we knew how little
Would survive us—how little we had mended
 
Or built that was not now lost—something
Large and old awoke. And then our singing
Brought on a different manner of weather.
 
Then animals long believed gone crept down
From trees. We took new stock of one another.
We wept to be reminded of such color.
 

Much love,

Dabney

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