i will not grow accustomed
to numbering &ranking
the dead. each name, each
number, pricks my skin.
&when i hear about a
child getting punched in
the face for being
asian-american in this
year’s america because the
clown promoted racism,
scapegoating, &death,
the bile rises through a
constricted cavity, up
my esophagus, &my
mouth tastes bitter like
kerosene. a dizzy spell
begins; as my spatial
vertigo kicks in, i level
a flat hand to the wall to
steady myself. my eyes
grow glassy &my heart
rate quickens. no matter
how much bigotry we
know exists, it’s never
incorrect to be upset by
something upsetting. i
soften here. i will not
be changed by him,
by this. i will not
thicken my only skin
for the norm of excusing
hatred. &it’s not up to
women to fix how the
world hates women.
ditto every human
being othered, to the
power of infinity.