Leslie McGrath: Trump-wrung
It crackled like a stun gun
the news (I swear it did) and when
we picked ourselves up off the floor
(tiled, concrete, packed-earth, marble)
of our assumptions it was
done in a slow motion funk
of shock and disjunction.
How could this happen?
We took the hit. Our ears rung.
It stung that night.
And each morning since
it’s a rising welt, the sun.
Copyright 2016 Leslie McGrath
I came here to comment on your poem capturing my feelings, but Patricia said it so well. I guess I can only add that in my 61 years I have honestly never been so terrified in my life as I am for the coming of January 20, 2017–the end of our world as we know it. I pray God will forgive those who voted for such a vile, vile man. But we have turned into a Godless nation, which can only explain how so many people didn’t–and still don’t–see it. My only consolation is that the Bible prophets predicted this exact thing happening, so when I feel terrified I remind myself that He will always be in control. Those who know this have no need to be so afraid (although, being human, I can’t help it).
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This captures the feeling exactly. Beautifully written. Still impossibly painful.
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