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The Bitterness of our Perspective

I’m going to have a baby with wild wolves all around. He will hear the racist rhetoric, discriminatory remarks, the spews of hatred, the polarizing words of divisiveness, the threat of chaos, the growling of the looming beasts of our world today—the place where my first child will enter.

He will taste the bitterness of our perspective, the souring of our dispositions, the sweetness in the voices of loved ones.

He will smell the wolves of the street, that stench of the homeless, the displaced and hungry.

He will see the screens all around him.

He will feel the swab up his nostrils, the mask on his face and the urge to remove it, the roughness of the dollar bill, the softness of his mother’s skin.

He will enter this world with wolves surrounding him, snarling, staring him down with their yellow eyes. And he will stare back.


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