After the Election, People Ask How I am

My mind takes refuge in the Merritt Parkway tunnel near the New Haven-Woodbridge exit. It presses itself against the wall. Fears drive past at dizzying speeds. My neck and jaw spasm with pain, persistent and raw. Stomach lingers in the kitchen, searching for chocolate. My feverish heart stays in bed. Shades are pulled against reality; the television is mute. My heart cannot bear the burden of news. Hope lies crumpled at the bottom of the staircase, surrounded by EMTs who argue about where to place the brace.

before the hyacinth
     glacial
         winter

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Lucky Jefferson, Issue 16 (Fissure), 2025

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