I woke at 1:15 am on Thursday morning, feeling flutters of panic. My mind was going a mile a minute, pinballing from raging wildfires to taking over the Panama Canal to an ongoing family medical crisis, and all points in between. Then it got fully sucked into the political/cultural maelstrom of Donald Trump, his cronies and the collective insanity: Greenland, the Panama Canal, renaming the Gulf of Mexico, revoking vaccines, etc. We’re taking this too calmly, I thought. We laugh at Trump’s insane utterings, or roll our eyes. Where is our outrage? How do we show it? Why aren’t we taking to the streets? What do I need to do to stand up NOW?
On this early morning when I can’t bury my head in daily life, I’m scared about what might come next. My thoughts skitter away from a book I’m reading about small town Germany during Hitler’s rise. How initially so much seemed slightly ridiculous–the pomp, the posturing, etc. And then later, it wasn’t. And by then, it was too late.
I’m scared that we’ll keep letting things slide until it’s too late. That we are relying on our democracy to hold fast. But our democratic system feels battered and bruised and severely undermined. Will it hold strong? If we ignore these small initial mad sparks, and don’t feed them oxygen, will they burn out? Or are we ignoring early sparks that could lead to out-of-control wildfires? It feels like the latter. It feels like we’re on the precipice of disaster. Especially at 1:15 am on a Thursday morning.
After spiraling for a while, I finally decide (in desperation) to change my neural channels by reading (not the historical fiction book I mentioned). I grab my Kindle, pull the covers up and over my head, and read. And read. And read. Until about 4:15 am. Then I sleep for about 15 more minutes before getting up for the day.
My notebook entries from that morning are dreamy and disjointed. And dark. I jotted down my Wordle guesses, as usual, to use as a word pool. When I write what I call a Wordle poem, I typically try to use all the words and keep them in order. This time I omitted one word (water) and shifted the order of the first two words.
My Wordle guesses: weary, wreak, waver, water, wafer
January 2025
Each day wreaks more havoc
I am bone weary
on the brink
of this morning
I waver
watch the sun stutter
then tip
up and over the horizon
a thin wafer of hope
melting away
into a bleak day
©Molly Hogan
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Kat Apel.
Nix the comfort zone 
I’m glad we have each other half a continent away to lean on. That’s what will get us through. And I have to hold onto hope. Listen to the voice of the rising sun. Today is a new day.
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I’m thankful for you and for communities like PF. It’s tremendously reassuring to know that there are so many like-minded people out there. Also, “Listen to the voice of the rising sun” sounds like a poem in and of itself.
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We for sure live in a hurting world, Molly. And it’s hardest to see hope in the dark. But it’s there. It just takes one little light to be a beacon of hope. Hugs, my friend.
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I actively seek and definitely find light in these dark times. I just don’t want to ignore the dark altogether. I keep thinking that hope needs a companion in action, and I have no idea what that action might look like.
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I’m right there with you, Molly. I’ll echo Margaret in gratitude for you, for us. This quote is helping me right now:
“Bless knowledge, all the species of it —
how the small black seed knows to
break into the Fibonacci spiral of a sunflower,
how we know that when the house burns down
and the tyrant takes office
and the toe pokes through the last good sock,
we still have each other.”
–Maria Popova
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Maria Popova is a gift. Thanks for sharing this one, Mary Lee.
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We have each other to read and honor the way the wafer of sun touches the tongue of our eye and then melts too fast, leaving toes to poke through into the bleakness, and we have each other to mend the hole in the sock, sometimes even to knit a whole new sock.
And Molly, there’s this: sleeplessness does not get in the way of your ability to make something substantial from 5 Wordle guesses. ❤
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And I am so grateful that we have each other!
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I’ll echo Heidi and sing the praises of your poem. I wish I could say that your middle-of-the-night worries were overblown, but we know they aren’t. Many people have been where we are, unfortunately, and I am planning on seeking advice from them (via books). Thank goodness for books, and friends, and games, and better night’s sleep.
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Thanks, Tabatha. I’ve been enjoying more sleep, so that’s a win 🙂 I still haven’t returned to my historical fiction book yet. It feels a bit raw…
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There is so much to be anxious about right now, Molly. I hear you. I don’t have answers, but I’m so glad that Mary Lee shared that beautiful Maria Popova poem because it seems to be what I needed to read. I hope this weekend brought you a bit of catch-up sleep.
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It truly is a wonderful poem, isn’t it!? I’m glad that Mary Lee shared it. Clearly it resonates with many of us.
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Sun stutters… a good reminder that we, too, may stutter in our approach to a day, a life. The most radical act perhaps at moments like these is to give in to poetry. At least poetry speaks truth. xoxo
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Giving in to poetry sounds like a positive step, or at least a step in a positive direction. Thanks for reading and commenting!
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I’m kind of glad that I am late to read your post, Molly, then can gather all the kind & helpful words from everyone above. Finding that your Wordle words bring your feelings out so poignantly makes me wonder if no matter the words, all of the worry and outrage would come. Now, it’s time to be ready for not accepting the actions as an “oh, well” but to find ways to say “That’s wrong”! Thank you for being so forthright in your feelings!
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Those kind and helpful words are truly welcome. It’s so helpful to know there are others out there who are pondering along similar lines. Thanks, Linda.
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Molly, thank you for this poem. It’s what I needed to read this evening. I’ll take that “thin wafer of hope” for the few minutes that it lasts, and maybe the next one will last longer.
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I do like your idea that “maybe the next one will last longer.”
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Oh, Molly, I’m in the insomniac trenches with you. I truly can’t understand how 77 million people thought voting for that man was a good idea. I can’t understand how people still laugh and roll their eyes and write his unhinged actions off to, “Well, that’s just him.” We no longer have a healthy, functioning media that will confront him and so many people get their “news” from sources, like Fox, that lie outright. I have read, too, about the way Germany went down that slippery slope just a little at a time, and it’s terrifying to witness.
I know I’m not offering hope or light here, and I’m sorry, but just felt compelled to say that you’re not alone in taking the threats to our country and ourselves seriously. There is nothing funny or normal about a country that elects a sociopathic convicted felon. I am bone weary too.
I do want to hold onto thin wafers of hope — your poem is a beauty, and Mary Lee, thank you for Popova’s words. Yes, we still have each other. And I’m often heartened by the everyday ways people are fighting back and resisting. The words of Langston Hughes keep popping into my head: “Hold fast to dreams…”
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Thanks so much for your heartfelt, honest response, Karen. I truly appreciate it. Thank goodness we still have each other!
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I’m kind of Debbie Downer, but sometimes I just can’t shut up. 🙂 Hugs!
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Dear Molly, I share your fear and sleepless nights. I’ve said to my husband so many times…how? How could people want this man as our president? How could any woman vote for him? And, yet, I know some of our friends did. We need to fight back but like you, I’m not sure how. I sure hope we do before it’s too late. The Atlantic magazine had an article about how Hitler dismantled democracy in Germany in less than two months! So many of the things he did now sound familiar from recent events in our own society. It is scary. I hope we can hold on to our Freedoms, our Rights, and each other to keep going.
And I hope you can have some nights of uninterrupted sleep. I know how bad insomnia can be.
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Less than two months! Yikes! That is terrifying. Thanks for the solidarity. Here’s hoping there are enough people to step up and speak up for those freedoms and rights.
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You’re welcome, Molly. This group has been essential in me not feeling alone – as I go through the trials with my dad and with the political scene as well. Thank you!
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Hello wonderful, Molly
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Hello wonderful Molly, These midnight & later words are so heartfelt, thank you for writing them. To maintain a forward path, in spite of the myriad miseries we find upon us, is the thing. I’m sending you a letter, as my ideas are too lengthy too fill up a box here. I appreciate your posting, your heart. XO from your fan, JAN
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So what is ours to do? Resist. Resist at every turn. Do not accept that this Administration is the new normal. It is not. Nor can he steal my joy. Being hopeful is my first act of resistance.
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