I. December

The last several weeks, the year 2016

have left so many heavy.

Hope worn down by a cruel president-elect,

with slit tongue, hissing venom:

grab ‘em by the pussy, and natives

shot and wounded by rubber bullets

for protecting Turtle Island.

II. Art + Awakening

You will begin to realize the importance

of art as classmates read their poems

the day after the election, where you all

have woken with what feels like a particularly

horrid political hangover that will

last upwards of four long, long years—

where only defiance and art will sustain us.

Art is our written medicine,

defiant against what has been.

III. Peace on Earth

Love trumps hate,

they chant into the evening,

as I watch—wondering if I have

any right to be here,

any reason to be afraid or grieve

when there’s so many miles to go,

when I have lived my life of privilege.

As the sun sets on Seattle,

I co-mingle with prayer, song, and hashtag,

trying to remove these blinders I was born with.

The women around me are strong,

this is what empowerment looks like.

One girl’s sign reads:

I believe in the good things coming,

and I want to tell her

I am trying to also, despite however bleak

things look after a tumultuous election week.

IV. Other Girls Are Not My Enemies

Girls must build each other upward—

like the strong, nurturing trees we are.

Instead, we so often uproot the acorn,

before it has even begun to sprout.

V. To Women Who Are Broken

For those who have survived,

the most important thing to be done

is to cling to what we are

with every desperate, clawing fingernail.

To not give up, to stretch out our hands

to the open moon and declare:

I am woman

And I am not going anywhere.

I am woman.

And no matter how many times society

puts its hands on me, or divides us

into our parts—breast, leg, lips,

instead of our mass and total,

we will keep fighting, because

every day we live is a radical attempt

to rescue our own lives.

Sometimes self -love is as simple as this:

draw oxygen into your lungs,

like you’d pull a lover into your arms.

Stand, and refuse to be moved,

hands raised like an invocation or prayer,

though words and violence threaten

to pull you down into despair.