Hope is a Blood Clot
The graze on your knee hurts more than nicks on my skin after I shave, turning the running water red. Hope is the band-aid we both don’t put on, as we walk from the slight sting on our skin, present but avoidable. Hope is a warm crotch and cold hands; It is the blood rush protecting your extremities, uncomfortable but necessary. Hope is Fanon’s fury, hope is the Haitian Revolution, Hope is The Undercommons. Hope is yours, hope is mine, hope is nowhere. Hope. Hop. Ho. H. ……. Hope is the silent coagulation of your fight, saved at the seams. Hope is a blood clot.