The Day After

November 9, 2016.

The sun didn’t come out this morning.

The sky is dark and gloomy, and Mother Earth’s cheeks are wet with tears.

So are mine.

I stand still, as stunned as I was years ago when six men mugged me on a dark street.

I am terrified.

Disrespect, discrimination, bullying, bigotry, misogyny, xenophobia — six specters surround me.

I hear the voice of men who controlled theatre jobs in the 1960s and ’70s,

Men who tried to cop a feel as I escaped through the door.

I’m older now.

I’m a Nasty Woman with the T-shirt to prove it,

But I’m not brave enough to face the demise of my ideals.

I cry like a baby.

As if in kindergarten, I scribble on a picture in the morning paper.

I draw a mustache, glasses, hairy warts.

I hear my mother’s advice about bullying, “Be above it and beyond it.”

I hear Michelle Obama, “When they go low, we go high.”

“I’m trying,” I say.

I don’t want food or wine.

I feel my forehead.

Heartsick doesn’t come with a fever, just tears and nausea.

I worry about friends who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, atheist, Muslim …

I wear a safety pin to show solidarity with immigrants.

I click “sad” on posts of Facebook friends.

We all feel horrible.

Buzzards puke.

We have elected Donald Trump president of the United States.

We climb under our blankies and curl up in fetal positions.

Tomorrow we will get dressed, dry our tears, and find a way through this alien world.

The sun will come out.

Frances Broaddus-Crutchfield

Powhatan County