An allegorical poem on fear, resilience, and unity in the wake of the 2024 presidential election.

…The guilt, anxiety, and fear I’d carried for so long stared back at me, translated into gritty black strokes, stark against the white of the paper like nothing I’d ever painted before.

Oliver’s surgery was successful and he recovered much more quickly than expected. My boy grew stronger over the next several months, but I didn’t. Jason suggested that I sign up for an art class to begin recovering the pieces of myself that I’d lost.

Leaving the house led to being assaulted by well-meaning questions about Oliver’s health that I couldn’t answer. Not only was it too painful to discuss casually, I didn’t have the answers. Every cardiology appointment made me feel like I was underwater and couldn’t come up for air again until we were back in the car.

He was here. Warm in my arms, smelling of milk and hope, but I was still holding my breath… Within the hour and without explanation, he was rushed to the NICU.

During my first trimester, I devoured every book on pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding I could get my hands on. While research usually provides me with a sense of control, the more I learned about potential complications, devastating mortality statistics, and endless decisions to make, the more quickly I spiraled.

When my work is celebrated or recognized, I feel like I’m preparing for a performance. I cling to my mask, tamping down meltdowns, fighting back tears, and trying to ignore the negative self-talk. I obsess over the details, trying to make every aspect of my life look effortless. In short, it looks like I really have my shit together.

The light has shifted, \ flashing a silent song to the surface \ that, somehow, I’ve never heard before…

Anchored to this desk, \ the sun is gleaming \ and time holds his breath…

Armed with awareness \ and shielded by intuition, \ I push forward from the inside out…