March was a Whirlwind

March was a whirlwind. I went to visit a best friend and celebrated a friend’s fortieth birthday in New Orleans. I made a stop at the famous Baldwin and Co. bookshop, of course. I picked up *The Fifth Season* by N. K. Jemisin and *A Fortune for Your Disaster* by Hanif Abdurraqib. It was a lovely trip, but coming home felt like receiving whiplash. The adrenaline is gone. And the sadness is still overwhelming. Last night my son cried because he misses his old school. He wants to go back. But his school is gone. It’s such a horrible thing to have to remind your kid that their favorite place is burned down.

We drive up often to check on our property. I hate it. It’s like visiting a graveyard. It is a graveyard. All those homes. All those people. It’s all so bizarre. And with the current political climate, things feel so unsure. Unstable. There is no clear path forward. Should we rebuild? Should we not? Are we crazy for even trying? There are no answers. Only questions and loss. So I write shitty poetry to try and cope and just get something out. My brain is at once too crowded and a fog.

I am still reading. Delightfully Samantha Shannon has revised her famous Bone Season Series and it has given me comfort in these fraught times. I can relax my brain and escape for a little bit.

Take care my #bookstagram friends. I am holding yall close. Instagram fucking sucks but I do love all of you.