My mom in Nebraska sounds cheerful on the phone, exalting “DOGE”
and I feel like she’s brought “get well soon” balloons to an execution.
I remind myself she’s not the enemy, she just opened a door for them
thankful every day she didn’t go to DC after seeing the fliers on Facebook.
I have to believe her, that she didn’t know what’d happen on January 6th.

Last time I saw my psychiatrist they joked about “wellness farms”
called this the apocalypse, then asked about my mood
“I’m great when I’m writing,
but awful when I read the news,
but like, it’s not in my personal life yet,
but I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop”
afterwards, thinking up an addendum
but shoes have been dropping for so long
maybe I stopped hearing their footfalls.

A year ago, I came out as trans, and got diagnosed bipolar a week later:
cause-or-effect, chicken-and-egg “Gender-Flavored Manic Episode.”
I feel lucky, but remind myself I’m not a liar, for not wanting to go on T.
Cis-passing but scared nonetheless, I’m worried about what rights rollbacks come next
because when I was younger, I never thought that Roe v. Wade would be overturned.

At least ten times a day, I tell myself a survival-lie:
“this isn’t worth getting worked up over right now,” because
when the pit in my stomach recedes after every push notification
there’s still work and laundry and dishes to be done
and I can’t stand to let these fascist clowns destroy my life
not anymore, not again, because
God damn us all, this is the only time we get.
I can’t afford to spend all of it grieving.

just before the election, I was hanging with an organizer friend
holding a lighter, I found myself getting heated while explaining
“Out in Omaha, they sell gun safes you can climb inside at shopping malls.
I’d ask myself if I looked straight before I left the house and soon
decided I couldn’t live there anymore, not in case of a Civil War.”
Her eyes went wide, her tone reassuring,
telling me about tenants’ unions, dreaming aloud
“but we can make a good kind of revolution.”