Today the president of the country I live in signed away more of my rights as a woman. Today the president of the country I live in also dropped a bomb. The largest nonnuclear bomb in history. My coworkers and I gather at her desk and together try to loop our heads around it. This is history, we say. The desk under our forearms feels exactly like what it is--a heavy piece of wood, a thing made to hold and house other things. And there are things around this heavy piece of wood, more things and more--even the floor I walk across to leave for the day is a thing. I am starting to hate things.
It is so quiet in the elevator and I am alone and want to cry. I can't because the anvil in me is also a sponge. On the drive home I extract my heart shove her on the antennae and let wind fleck her blood all over. She shivers only slightly, a warning. Meat exposed to element rots.