My hands are shaking.
With anger or fear or sadness,
I dont know.
My heartbeat is thundering in my chest,
Adrenaline drugging my bloodstream
Like blood vessel racecars.
I'm standing alone in my kitchen,
Bright morning,
Coffee mug abandoned
Until my hands cease to tremble like earthquakes,
This quiver uncontrolable.
And somehow the fact that
I'm a thousand miles away
From the country with guns,
Still inconsolable.
Fingers still shaky, I dump out cold coffee,
Clang, thump, rinse out the remaining grinds.
The smell prevails, like the palm based tsunamis.
Does America really think this is what safety feels like??
