A poem for the day after an election

For the ones who have fought their way out of the floodwaters of grief

Photo by Артём Мякинник on Unsplash

For the ones who have fought their way out of the floodwaters

8 years ago, I woke up drowning in grief. 
With rage, I fought my way through the tsunami of despair. 
I clung to the truth I knew like flotsam and jetsam, 
and found others desperately doing the same. 
Haphazardly we navigated the flood waters, 
reaching out to pull others on board, 
finally finding places to rest 
before setting out again
into the sunken society around us.

Today the grief is a thick fog.
I see others dissipating the mist,
sending droplets flying 
as they stride forward 
to reach out arms of care and compassion. 

The grief is still here. 
It hangs low and heavy. 
But there you are.
I see you.

Give me your hand.
We will make our way through together.