Try as I may, I cannot find myself in the politics of public violence today. I know what Sunset Park evokes. I know what it means for trains and planes to be co-opted into mass killing machines against my people. I know the horror of mass shootings has been as crippling as they were fatal to so many innocent victims. I know.

I’m sorry it isn’t penetrating. It is poisoning me but it is not penetrating me.

I hope when I am caught in this situation in the flesh that I summon the courage to help those around me. Tourniquet the wounded and call for help. I hope I do not run. I hope I don’t stop to post on Twitter.

I will beat the living shit out of anyone who comes after us.

If there were a way I could show my viscera without hurting anybody I would.

Did you know when air touches internal organs they stop working? That’s why surgery patients have constipation. I keep confusing Mucinex with Metamucil. When I was pregnant my husband kept saying podiatrist when he meant pediatrician, and then the joke was that no, he really wanted to make sure our baby had good feet.

I am raising him like he only has ten years to live because that’s how I feel about the world sometimes. We have ten years. What do we need to get done before time’s up?

Ask a politician. Or do I mean to say poet.