Writing election poetry to stop doom scrolling

10/29/24

The thing about our anniversary is
it is also the anniversary of the week before
our hearts broke
watching results come in
on our honeymoon in Spain—

I will never again buy
cava and fancy ham sandwiches 
								for later, to celebrate
with such
confidence
such clear-eyed
joy.
I will never again
stay up late waiting for the good thing to happen
not understanding
that it
wasn’t

happening.

The thing about our anniversary is
my maid of honor said I was like
an ant
tiny and so 
unexpectedly 
strong
and then she 
told everyone to vote
and you had a heavy beard
and my dress didn’t fit properly
maybe because women’s bodies are never adequately understood
or maybe because the tailor was
rushed
tired
unwilling to admit defeat from the shape of me

The thing about our anniversary is
my father sang a song from The Fantasticks
and I held one of my bridesmaids’ hands, hard, before I walked down the aisle
and I didn’t know I would need
her
that
then.

The thing about our anniversary is
we danced to Dire Straits and everyone said it would go fast and it did and my maid of 	honor wore tulle and I had a flower crown and the sound system sounded like 
shit
and a week later I’d be 
sobbing in a Hillary Clinton t-shirt 
in a hotel in Seville
because it is hard to hold so much hope and
so little
at once. 

The thing about our anniversary is 
I texted girlfriends in the bathroom the morning after that
awful night
before you even woke up
and then we got 
stuck
on cramped Spanish roads
for hours
but we were
married
we had that
wedding
with the hanging lights the peach flowers the ethereal dress the lobster rolls the DJ 	playing Oldies and salsa the minister who’d known me since I was a toddler my oldest friend my uncomfortable shoes a city I’ll never live in champagne I never got a chance to drink a slight hangover from the rehearsal dinner a bad review on my latest book read that morning makeup that makes my eyes look like someone else’s eyes impossibly young nieces and nephews getting tired getting cold getting overstimulated by the whole of it, the 
party we throw to celebrate a new life together

the hope
the hope
the hope

even if
so quickly


we weren’t quite sure
what hope even
meant.


The thing about our anniversary is
it has been eight years and to celebrate we
say Happy Anniversary and I put on a blue sweater
I bought for too cheap for it to be
ethical
but it’s that perfect shade of royal blue
and I’m bringing
two
magnificent
daughters
to vote
for a woman and I think I’m not supposed to care anymore
that it’s a woman
because it’s a jinx or
I don’t know
if we say it too loudly the men will notice and
remember we can’t be in charge
but I can’t help it
I say it anyway

it’s our anniversary
can’t I early vote and say the truth
to little girls who pronounce her name better than most
adults
who like princess dresses and 
t-shirts with the Goldfish logos on them,
respectively,
who
will probably talk so much I will have trouble figuring out
where and how to fill in the right bubbles—

but I have to take them with me anyway
because it is our anniversary and

really

there is nothing more romantic
nothing in the world
than 
hope.