Kavanaugh can’t be a Halloween Costume

I did something this morning

that I haven’t wanted to before.

I screamed into my pillow.

a practice like this was introduced to me

by the hospice staff

preparing us for our dad’s death

at home,

inviting us to be,

emotional.

Fuck everyone is all that I could say.

I have a particular aversion

to our choice to convert

someone’s trauma

into someone else’s entertainment.

as though laughter is never cruel,

never a part of what’s cruel,

a tool that perverts culture and inner lives.

I turned on social media yesterday

and the first thing I saw was a picture,

a staged picture

of two people smiling,

dressed as judges.

an image of Brett Kavanaugh

as a clever costume,

not worn thoughtlessly,

or in youth,

but on purpose,

by a father

raising sons,

white sons,

private school sons,

high school aged sons,

posing with his wife,

a pastor,

in on the fun.

without even scrolling

I can see the comments

are all from women,

other moms

immediately seeing

the joke

and sharing in

the harmless jubilee.

what allows us to hear suffering,

and express laughter?

when did our coping turn

into someone else’s erasure?

who was watching

amidst their

childhood

as someone’s

mother,

or their father,

taught them

to dress up

as someone’s

abuser,

as if that could

possibly

be harmless.

who watches this and thinks

next,

I want to be a part of that moment.

It looks like so much fun.

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.