We have a dog in that fight
We have a cock in that ring
We have a cop in those streets
We have a lie in that headline
We have a stone in that shoe
We have a hand in that scandal
We have a net in that sea
We have a cap in that smile
We have a brick in that prison
We have a bet on that horse
We have a tape of that trespass
We have a crack on that screen
We have a pulse in that heart
We have a wave in that water
We have a love in that letter
We have a hawk in that sky
We have an egg in that nest
We have a bud in that field
We have a word in that poem
We have a stake in that moon
We have a hand in that hand
We have a bulb in that lamp
We have a star in that dark
We have a seed in that grass
a seed in that grass.
We have a sapling of hope,
a dying hope, a kindled hope,
a violent hope, a perennial hope
a wheezing, withering,
blighting, surviving, stupid,
lovely, languishing hope
in that world, this world.
Angelica Whitehorne is a writer from Buffalo, New York who has published or forthcoming work in Westwind Poetry, Mantis, The Laurel Review, The Cardiff Review, North Dakota Quarterly, and Hooligan Magazine, among others. Besides being a devastated poet, Angelica is a communication specialist for a green energy company. She is also currently writing her first novel, so wish her luck.
