A Letter Regarding Current Events
with thanks to Anne Sexton

Since you ask, Crystal,
I’m not okay anymore. Today
is one of those days—I know
you’ve had them too. It’s not just
right now, though, today is simply
the culmination of several weeks
of hell. It started with those

goddamned airplanes, those Arabs
desperate to be martyrs. I doubt God
considers it martyrdom, using him
for their cause, murdering thousands.
I thought my uncles were there
at the Pentagon that day, and I

cried. You know how rare it is for me
to cry, and I cried all day. Turns out
they weren’t there, but it got worse
after that. Aunt Bessie—the one I tell
everything to—found out why
it was hard to breathe. Those dark spots

on x-rays, so cliche on television,
became concrete for me, weighing down
her lungs, expanding until there’s nowhere
left to invade. And Granddaddy
is having heart surgery today, again,
a balloon angioplasty. It’s not risky,

but he’s strange about death. He called
his lawyer last night to make sure his will
was in order, even filled in his secretary
about who was to take over his job
at the brokerage firm if that dreaded
something should go wrong. Crystal,

I worry about the next thing that will happen.