Survival Kit
I am a millennial woman.
Raised on the promise
that tomorrow
would be brighter.
They told us
to study hard,
to dream wide,
to believe the world
was stretching forward
like open highway.
But I have watched
too many things
collapse.
I remember the smoke
of September 11th attacks
curling across television screens
in classroom corners.
I remember learning
new words too young:
terror alert, lockdown,
active shooter.
Children running from hallways
that should have smelled like
pencil shavings
and cafeteria pizza.
I have watched churches bleed,
movie theaters turn quiet,
grocery stores become crime scenes.
I have watched mothers
bury babies.
I have watched black boys
become hashtags
before they ever had the chance
to become old men.
I have watched armed civilians
and sworn officers
pull the trigger
on bodies that look like
my cousins,
my nephews,
my neighbors.
I have watched the miracle
of Barack Obama
rise like a sunrise
and then watched
the long shadow
of hatred stretch itself
right back across the ground:
overt,
loud,
unashamed.
And now it is 2026.
Instead of dreaming
about cities on Mars
or the sweetness of old age,
I am on Amazon
building a survival kit:
flashlights,
portable chargers,
canned food.
Trying to prepare
for the unthinkable
while pretending
life is still normal.
Trying to gather
pieces of safety
with two-day shipping.
It feels strange
to plan for the end of the world
while still answering emails
and paying rent.
I do not want dominance.
I do not want uniformity.
I just want the world
to behave like a world:
predictable,
because laws mean something;
safe,
because civility matters.
A place where
good and evil
continue their ancient dance
but neither one
burns the whole house down.
There is room here
for everyone.
At least,
there should be.
And tonight,
I sit here quietly
with my shopping cart full of survival gear,
wondering
how we arrived at a future
where hope
and emergency supplies
live in the same drawer.