Aftermath

By Cheryl Caesar

(This poem was originally published in Across the Margin)

On the first day our Facebook pages went black.

We drove to work through a film of tears

and hugged each other in the hallways, unashamed,

and in the women’s room. We talked about renewing passports,

and families in Canada. We avoided referring

to the beginning of The Handmaid’s Tale. We went

on to meet our classes, or conference with students

who complained, “I didn’t know

this assignment would be so evidence-based.”

We kept our blurry eyes front, and flowed

through the day on a current of work and love.

On the second day, we posted galaxies and poems

of resistance on Facebook, and the numbers

of suicide hotlines. And Joplin’s “Solace” was playing

on WKAR on the way in, and the sun

reached a few gentle fingers through the clouds.

So at work we taped the resistance poems

to the inside stall doors in the women’s room.

In the halls we wondered how the Refugee

Development Center was doing, how we could help.

We went on to conference with students who said,

“I just kinda smushed two facts and two sources

together,” for the sake of convenience.

And we slept several hours each night, albeit

with Ambien, which we had been off for three months.

And now I have to admit that I have no idea

whether anyone has gone back on Ambien but me.

But it feels so much better, stronger, safer, to say “we,”

like Offred in The Handmaid’s Tale, explaining,

“We put the butter on our skin.” She had no idea either.

But a friend had posted on Facebook, “This is no reason

to break your sobriety,” so I know others are tempted

to temporary oblivion, and I kind of smush

the facts together.  Which is I guess

a definition of fiction. On Monday I will see

the fact-smushing student, and tell him, “So maybe research

is not your jam. Maybe you prefer

fiction. But in these times, submerged in a flood

of information, wouldn’t it be good to have a few tools

to tell the difference?” I hope it will work. I hope

he still believes in some kind of truth. Yesterday he wrote,

“I used a reliable source but the facts were wrong. I learned

not to trust the internet.”

Cheryl Caesar is a writer, teacher of writing and visual artist living in Lansing. She is an associate professor at Michigan State University, and does research and advocacy for culturally-responsive pedagogy.  

Cheryl’s chapbook of protest poetry Flatman (Thurston Howl Publications) is available from Amazon.