--
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.
