good friday

good friday

birdsong breaks
through the last layers of sleep.
i don’t want to
make the coffee or find my jacket.
i don’t want to zip my boots
grab my keys
and head out
into a world that hates me. it’s true.
i’m tired and everyday
the westboro baptist protests
the porn star memes
the budgets, the billboards.
the well meaning cutting questions.
i’m just trying to get some apple jacks for my kid,
match socks and sign his homework.
i’m just trying to find lunch money
and a permission slip.
i don’t want to
withstand it
anymore,
i just want to walk out into the sunlight
and appreciate the bird flight.
i do not want to kiss the one who betrayed me.
i do not want to look at him and see
what might be beautiful.
i only see the dark behind my eyelids,
feel the cold cement.
but my son is grabbing his backpack
to go out to the rumors and the possibility of bullets.
when i don’t have it in me
i find it in you.
today is going to be hard.
i pour my coffee
anyway.