COPING: Kristen Stone Sends Big Love from the Deep South
We change our bedtime routine.
I spend most of the weekend in nature, with my son and niece. Our friends meet us. We hike and play in the river. The children get muddy and are happy. I tell myself, our county voted for the children and the parks. At least there is that.
We draw pictures and the children, when they are not bickering mightily, are blasting my heart open with their queer tenderness.
Our church meets outside too, on the prairie. We sing we will guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride. We sing this land is your land. I cry, hard and silent.
I ask my counseling clients, black teenagers at an alternative school, how they feel about the election. For what it’s worth, I clip a safety pin to my shirt.
I worry over whether to take my son to a demonstration. He already knows too much.
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