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      June 12, 2016I Am Over Here SobbingAmy Miller

      Under an infinite dome of expanding
      night, the crickets recording
      a high of one hundred, Hillary Clinton
      is winning California and standing
      with her daughter and wearing,
      near as I can tell, a flak jacket
      under that awkward coat and I’m
      thinking, Bill with his hand in hers,
      we don’t even know what
      to call him, a president’s husband,
      we don’t have the language
      for it yet, and already I’m thinking
      of who would troll me on Facebook
      if I said that, of who would fire off
      a foot-long rant—Monsanto
      and shrill and bought and hawk—
      and who would make a blowjob joke
      out of that term we have yet to invent—
      first husband? first man?—all clichés
      taken already—and the all-caps
      of the world are shouting
      again in my head, even
      my mother who said if you want
      horses, marry a man with horses,
      and I am over here sobbing
      at the history writing itself
      and for once I am singing
      the national anthem, that part
      at the baseball game where I normally
      lower my eyes in silence, my hand
      nowhere near my heart, as I try
      not to think of bursting or rockets
      or bombs but instead rest my eyes
      on the grass with its millions
      of green blades patiently growing.

      from Poets Respond

      Amy Miller

      “On the night Hillary Clinton won Super Tuesday, I was watching her victory speech on CNN, choked up with pride and astonishment that we in the U.S. finally elected a female major-party nominee for president. The import of it, the implications, blindsided me in a strange way—I found myself obsessing over minutiae, like what we would call Bill Clinton if Hillary becomes president. I was struck by the idea that we are literally writing history. In my enthusiasm, I started typing up a Facebook quip about it, but debated and debated whether to post it, knowing that some of my other-leaning friends might attack me online, as I’ve seen happen so often lately. I decided not to post it. I felt like a coward, and a little like I was living in a police state. But I also felt like I was practicing an ancient form of self-preservation.”

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