Member-only story
December Fashion Week
We were not invited.
Prancing their runways
twenty streets down while
issuing vetted invitations
to huddle, gnaw carcasses and
spin untruths.
Their sequinned polyester jackets
discarded in a hate-rant dance,
making them feel superior,
omnipotent,
and
self-justified.
To us, the shock of their
unveiling showcased the style for
any future:
A tight-fitting sheath of ignorance
cloaked with deafening
silence.
Dear friends. Even if they give you a map at the entrance to the catacombs, it’s so dark in there. Your phone flashlight assists, yet you pray the battery will hold up during the long trek. The path is anything but straight.
To crawl out of the murk you must implant the unwavering belief in light at the tunnel’s end. That mantra will lift you back on your feet despite the stone-cold walls beckoning, “Press your back against me and crumble.”
Instead, look hard enough, and you will smell the sun before seeing it. That is when everything is right again.
© Suzanne V. Tanner, 2022. All Rights Reserved.
