Aubade or Grenade

Days when a child’s laughter is the best antidepressant. When waking thoughts feel more like aspiration than lethal injection. When breath tethers every step to life-affirming possibility. When hope falls songingly into your life like rain. All this balanced against days when self-righteousness masks itself as enlightenment. When daggers in the back are the only form of acupuncture. When nightmares roam dilapidated tenements of vanishing American dreams. Here, put your hand to my chest. Tell me if this lump feels like a knot of joy about to blossom, or a sense of dread growing darker by the day.

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