I’m not a poet, and we all need one 

What does one say on a day like this? On a day when nothing else seems amiss.

 
The puffs of white still pour out of cars as people drive off to work.

The chickadees still sing their dee-dee-dee from the trees.

My cats still lounge by the heater, leisurely giving themselves baths.

The sun has risen and set,

And we’re all still here.

 

And yet there’s a shift,
A crack,

A fissure,

A change.
Everything is the same and yet it isn’t.

Everyone is the same, even though we’ll never be the same again.

And I can’t find the words we all need to hear.

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