I am pre-trip. Cocooned. Cough-dropped. Hibernated. Pretending to be someone who pretends to be a witch, which means making ill-advised potions out of root vegetables and the randomization of the spice rack, believing in the healing powers of the brew. In bed all day with an original brick from Abraham Lincoln’s log cabin, the life mask of Carl Sandburg, and Bad Girls by Solange on repeat. Watching the internet pass by in a daze. Bye Jeff Sessions. Remy Ma wearing all black on a talk show to commemorate Nicki Minaj’s metaphorical funeral, grieving after metaphorically murdering her. Trump wants to separate mothers and children at the border. Che Guevara’s last offenses were to get medicine for his asthma. What to do with all this. My partner is in the other room, bent over with his barking cough. Tomorrow I will board a plane in the best way possible, with a fever, burning it all off.
photo source: The Witch’s Daughter