harm reduction
why I can't help returning to poetry right now
Election night 2016 & 2020, I cried myself to sleep. It’s a week post-election in 2024, and I have yet to shed a tear. I feel just as devastated, though less blind-sided, than the last two rounds of this. The casual cruelty, Hannah Arendt’s “banality of evil”, of my fellow countrymen has been made apparent to me multiple times over the last decade. Innocence lost and all that. I used to say, “I can’t believe this is happening.” That’s not true anymore.
There’s an artist who posts up at a local farmer’s market, asking passersby if they would “fancy a bit of poetry today?” Today, Wednesday, the last week, my answer would be a resounding yes. The cynic in me rolls my eyes & resents this, but I can’t help it - I find myself turning and returning to poetry in times of trials and tribulation. It’s easy to read and interact with, it connects to imagination, it shows that history repeats itself and some things about the human condition never change. It can even inspire hope.
I am taking a writing class at Hugo House called “Writing Poetry for the End of the World,” something I am grateful my past self had the wherewithal to register for. Processing the events of the last week/year through reading and writing with others has been a balm.
I wrote this poem last week in our first class after the election. It’s not my best, but it exists, and that’s not nothing; and it reminds me of all the things within my control that I have done, am doing, and will continue to do for as long as I have to.
harm reduction
Wake up. Eat breakfast. Wash face. Brush teeth. Drink water. Take vitamins. Text a friend. Call a family member. Wash clothes. Work a little bit. Read a little bit. Take pets outside. Take yourself outside. Turn face to sun. Inhale. Exhale. Go back inside. Bake cookies. Make soup. Bake bread. Feed your loved ones. Feed yourself. Give $20 to the man on the corner. Give $20 to an abortion fund. Give $20 to public radio. Give $20 to your brother. Move your body. Make art. Buy art. Buy lots of art. Grow tomatoes. Make pasta sauce. Invite people over for dinner. Eat pasta. Eat lots of pasta. Eat dessert (why not). Walk across the street. Knock on a door. Say, hey, you good? Say, hey, I got you. Say, thank you, I love you. Cross the street again. Keep walking. Keep going. Keep going. Keep going. Go to sleep. Wake up. Repeat.
good things on the internet
aka, things that have helped me process this week
Angela Garbes on 4 heated discussions with her husband since 2016
Brandon Taylor on breaking addictive habits, in spite of everything
this 12-minute compassionate body scan meditation from On Being
this TikTok Leah (hey girl) sent me - “I can do this longer than you”
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currently reading
Ninth House & Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo: Excellent dark academic spooky fantasy that builds and builds, perfect for escaping the current hellscape.
The Buddhist Third Class Junkmail Oracle - The Art and Poetry of d.a. Levy: Really enjoying my first experience with Levy, “an activist and mystic who either committed suicide or was murdered at the age of twenty-six in East Cleveland” in 1968.
for comrades who ask, “what is to be done?” during this particular historical conjuncture, a (partial) list of practical things to do. by Tim Blunk: “carry your weight // take on some more // fight to love // say it again // cross the line // take us with you // don’t look back”
this week’s jam
more of a slow jam, but I hope you listen to this and know you are not alone
photo of my cats
