Unintended Consequences by Marissa Glover

With all the sadness in the news, I can’t afford to mourn each reported death. Such grief is unsustainable, says my therapist. It’s like Red Rover: Only the choosy side survives. Send over the small stories too weak to breach the wall—don’t call for suicides, bullets, bombs, children ripped from their mother’s arms.

So I tap my collarbone like she taught and chant, I will not cry for people I do not know. I will not cry for people I do not know. I will not cry for people I do not know. I will not cry—   If you say it often enough, and with enough conviction, you stop caring about people you don’t know and even those you do.

Marissa Glover teaches and writes in central Florida, where she spends most of her time sweating. Her poetry has most recently appeared in The Lascaux Review, Picaroon, Ink Sweat & Tears, Stoneboat, and After the Pause. Follow her on Twitter @_MarissaGlover_.