Fallout

by Jenny Morelli

Lately, my hello

seems shrouded in a sigh

for holding in my fears,

Image credit: Alexey Malakhov on Unsplash

my uncertainties and realities

hoping no one will tell

the pressure I feel

to avoid sharing my secrets,

my dreams to leave a place

that no longer feels like home,

like pride, like possibility,

like stability. Lately,

my skin feels too tight

or too loose, my truths

are too big in my mouth,

too jagged on my tongue

and my silence is too loud,

too often mistaken

for inhibition, not discretion

or disappointment. Lately,

I wish I could shake

that friend of mine and ask

why right, which is wrong,

which is screwing with our rights

as women, as teachers,

as Americans, as humans,

but I’m holding it all inside

so I won’t rip what’s already torn,

so I don’t endanger the safe space

I’ve cultivated, the tenuous trust

I’ve nurtured. Lately,

I’m asking myself

how much longer can I live

like this, all pent up and coiled tight

and wanting to burst, to explode,

to rage against the ignorance,

the blind devotion, the dismissive excuses for all the evil pulling the strings

of their puppets, for all the evil

pulling the pins to kill thousands

of innocent humans?

How long can I continue

bracing myself, exhausting myself

physically and mentally and emotionally

for the inevitable fallout?

***

Jenny Morelli

Jenny Morelli is a high school English teacher who lives in New Jersey with her husband and cat. She is often either inspired by her students or else they're triggering memories in her of when she was young and struggling with her self-confidence. She has been published in a number of literary magazines, including Spare Parts for a novel excerpt, Spillwords for several themed poems, and Bottlecap Press for her own chapbook This is Not a Drill.