upon hearing results of 2016 election in USA.
Chains of cool air
strung like loose beads on thread
rattle unsteadily
within lungs too tight
to move out the breath
aching to leave
a heavy chest,
weighted down
by tears of regret.
In the first stage of grief
I am angry,
so angry,
my country is dead.
Who will grieve with me?
Those watching reality TV?
Those betting on games?
Those still seeking fame?
Those paralyzed by fear?
Those who only hold dear
their latest triumph over others?
Worn-out working single mothers?
Frustrated youth, anxiously hopeless?
Fired civil servants abandoned, feeling useless?
There are tears enough for us all.
But, too few who will cry out loud.
The screams must be released, you see,
that we may again breathe free.
Breathe out, damn lungs, despite the pain
Only then can we breathe freedom in again.
annarino writes 