*This is in response to Day 7: Fingers, Prose Poetry, and Assonance for Writing 201. Enjoy!
At Dawn I said “I love you” and pulled you in a fierce hug, a clasp of assurance that we belong. Then entwined our daughter’s hair into amazing thick twists to rival any braided cord, adorned it with flower pins and ribbons, made your breakfast, kissed yall goodbye, then tonight the news spills havoc upon our senses, inducing or perceptions of America into dark tar, sticky with insults and investigations, I twist and fold them into my lap, bite the nails, stifle a cry- slap open the tablet and swipe the lock code, tap into Twitter, put verbs and synonyms on BLAST, their trigger fingers rejoice, dancing over white posters with onyx letters and then the Molotov sails through the night air. I am not there to hear it whistle, but when my daughter comes home, she will be embraced. My son will be held in a fierce hug.