Concession

A poem for the day after the elections

Concession

This morning,
in the lingering fog,
I took my heavy heart
and went down to the rise 
overlooking the lake,
and I stood with the burr oaks,
crooked and sturdy, 
which weeks ago gave up
their leaves to the wind.

And there, 
beneath the bare bones
of their branches,
I took off my shoes 
and planted my feet 
in the cold morning dirt,
       hol…