Jo Christian

Transing Trump’s America

Hate is a fragile project
 
                                    a projection of fear stitched together
 
                                   
                                                                                    like a man in a dress
 
            Boo!
 
                        What you can’t see                             what you can’t understand
 
 
thin as skin of hands without work                                         thin as the child, unbullied
 
                                                      coddled and cooed at,
 
                                    buttered and buoyed through classroom and job
 
                                                interview, only caring what they will drive,
 
                                                                        how far, away
 
                                                the next update, only crying
                                               
                                                                                                when it isn’t what they want.
 
 
Hate is a fragile, delicate thing–
 
                                                            Look too long at the gendered garbs the U.S. guards
 
 
                                                and grabs at in earnest and you will notice
                                               
                                                            the itching,              the fraying of the fibers
 
                                                That bind it, old as a quilt, stitched together but falling
           
                                    a part.
 
Hate is fragile and love will fracture
 
                                                it further, it afraid of disruption
 
                                                                        it sweeps us away
                                   
                                                                        sweeps, but can’t sweep the way our bodies
 
                                                            break the silence—
 
                                    the way our being                   our binding                             is
                       
 
                                    thicker than bark                                 deep as the roots that intermingle
 
 
                        that find each other in the dark.
 
 
Hate is fragile             and will break                         a dull saw blade
 
battered                       shattered                      busting
 
 
             against us.