The sun will come up, and I will rise from my restless night,
and go about my day.
There will be beauty in the world, and laughter, and music,
There will be a community of like-minded friends with whom to commiserate,
and a long laundry list of ways to make a difference.
Yes, there must be a sense of responsibility:
to shake off the malaise, the numbness, the shock,
to understand the forces that led us here,
to help comfort the discomfited,
to participate in the healing of the brokenness,
and with urgency.
We will act out of conviction,
knowing that democracy is not a spectator sport.
We will grieve, and rage, and wonder how and why,
but we will need to learn patience.
For like the phoenix — long-lived and regenerative —
our day will come again.
Love does trump hate,
and, though long,
the arc of the moral universe will bend towards justice.
(written in the wee hours of Wednesday, November 9, 2016)