Yesterday I was in center city Philadelphia taking my time to walk to the train on the east side of Market Street, to eventually make my way home to the suburbs. Much of the city in this particular area is under construction, but the heavier than usual traffic and congestion was due to more of that. Unbeknownst to me, I was walking into the end of what was supposed to have been a march by Trump supporters, who had planned to travel from Independence Mall to Benjamin Franklin Parkway. They were, from what I later gathered, asked to cancel it in midstream because anti-Trump protesters had shown up. According to news reports the City’s Police Commissioner called on organizers to cut the route short because the inevitable clashes between the two groups were making it very unsafe for the tourists and the general public. By 3 PM, when I was in the area, most of the activity had died down. I did note an interchange between a police officer directing traffic and a person crossing Market Street. “Protesters, right?” she said. “It’s like this very week,” responded the officer, weary, but focused on moving people along. For the woman and the police officer, who were in the mix, but separate from the two groups, its was a “here we go again” moment. Four months after the presidential election and 67 days into the Trump presidency, protest and resistance are becoming the norm.

The impact, the outcome unknown, it is too soon to know. But, I really wonder and worry that the marching, the disruption of everyday life in cities and communities is contributing to the polarization between the two extremes, obfuscating the issues, one side’s opposition pushing the other group to become more entrenched, angry, unwilling to seek any resolution. I am left-leaning, admittedly. I participated in the Women’s March on the day after the inauguration and was pleased and proud to do so. I felt energized; I felt an affinity and solidarity with everyone who had gathered toward one purpose; I was part of a positive, forward-looking drive.  But, I just don’t know now. It seems like every day there’s a new petition to sign, another post to share, a rallying cry to call representatives, a march, a rally, a meeting and I am feeling guilty that I’m not doing this, but I’m not because I just don’t know.

Last month Hillary Clinton made a statement that echoes the phrase that has been uppermost in my thinking lately – resistance through persistence. An NBC News report noted that she took to Twitter, using the Democrats’ handle, @HillaryClinton: “Let resistance plus persistence equal progress for our Party and our country.” #DNCFuture> I’m still with her. I know that much.

I will persist, keep my eyes and ears open, say what I can when the time is right. And now, I’ll go work on a poem.

This week, Spring Break, supposed to be my time for creative renewal. But it snowed and I hate the cold and snow and ice. It disrupts my preferred ways of being in the world. I’m forced me to become vigilant about the simple act of visiting a friend, walking my dog Pepper, just getting in and out of my car. So I focus on indoor activities, as do most people at times like this, it’s not so awful really. I cooked up 2 big pots of gravy as the snow fell, did laundry, cleaned the bathroom, in between reading, screen time on TV, computer & iPad. The writing projects I’d hoped to complete didn’t go so well or so it seems to me right now.

When I take a step away though, I have to see weeks like this as brewing, stewing, simmering – the cooking metaphors work for me. Thoughts are brewing as I read some of my favorite poets (Nick Flynn, Marie Howe, Alison Townsend’ The Blue Dress) and try to imitate them; bingewatching Transparent leads me to look into it’s creator Jill Soloway, who uses gender-neutral pronouns; I bask in Wendell Berry’s novel, Hannah Coulter, about a woman looking back on her life in his imagined farming community; I watch a PBS show about Maya Angelou, which reminds me of Ntozake Shange, who was mentioned by the character Ally in an episode of Transparent and who made a guest appearance in a dream sequence Ally has  How is this all coming together in the soup of my imagination?

A call has gone out for submissions from local press, The Head and The Hand. From their website: “What sparks a story with the power to change and entertain? In our increasingly polarized society, we think the answer can be found in everyday expressions of perseverance, empathy, absurdity, and vigilance. Our new Shockwire Chapbook Series recognizes the need to raise the storytelling stakes in response to intimidation, fear, and isolation.”

I want to write about my grandmothers and my aunts. I have written about my maternal grandmother, Rosa, who I see as a creator crocheting intricate tablecloths and scarves for armchairs and sofas, she passed this love of handiwork on to me. I want to write about Nellie, my father’s mother, who worked after becoming a widow and saved to buy herself two diamond rings one of which she promised to me, but I never received. I want to write about Aunt Santa, who took care of me when my mother went back to work; she was an extraordinary baker sweetening every holiday and family celebration. They were strong women, who persisted during a time when women’s roles were circumscribed, who made their own way within the roles that were laid out for them. What did they know? Did they ever question? How did they uncover the strength to persist?

I’m thinking about domesticity and persistence as resistance, about feminism and gender questioning. I know I am a homebody, I like to be in my own space, I like to cook and crochet, I don’t mind doing the dishes and I dislike messiness, even though it sometimes takes me awhile to get around to it. But I’m only answerable to myself in my home; I’ve made my life this way intentionally. I can take the messiness in hand when I am ready. That’s much of what I did this week. Thirty years ago I tried to make a go of a partnership on the domestic front. It didn’t work; it ended in disaster. Maybe I was taking cues from my grandmothers and my aunt, from Maya Angelou and Ntozake Shange; maybe I was anticipating Jill Soloway and her character Ally, when I resisted the norms of domestic arrangements.

Here’s how a relatively enlightened couple negotiates domesticity. That negotiation skill is something I never acquired.

Source: How to Ask a Feminist to Do the Dishes