By now you've heard the terrible news about the Boston bombing. I live in Massachusetts, have friends in Boston. A few years ago my sister lived there. It's rattling, as all tragedies that feel too close to home are.
Everyone I know and love is safe. I get to say that. Several people don't. Not the people whose legs were blown off, or the families who lost someone today. I don't know what else to do, so I cook for my family and then scroll through the endless stream of tweets and Facebook posts and Instagram photos and YouTube videos and Google+ discussions and live blog updates from the news sources. I think I forget to blink for a while and my eyes get dry.
I need to know how people are going to handle this, that's what it's about. Bombs going off in a city two hours away from me is terrifying, but sometimes so is what happens after.
Last night, before all this, I was watching some videos of performance poet Kate Tempest. It is still National Poetry Month after all. She was recently awarded the Ted Hughes award for innovation in poetry. Here is one of her more recent:
I try to find reminders every day that there are people creating things, bringing fierce beauty, shining light, offering a hand, keeping it real.
Your word this week, dear word-nerds, is pulled from this Kate Tempest performance:
Do good things.