for Sarah Huckabee Sanders
We’re ancient. Can trace the “H” ending our name all the way back
to antiquity. And as I type this, Princess, I admit we can be vicious
when questioned. It’s our delivery, that lack of sweetness greeting
pressure. But that’s your gig, isn’t it? The Press. How their weight dips
between headlines. An alligator with a knife in its head is swimming
a lake in Sugar Land, Texas: drawing neighbors, yet untroubling experts.
That anatomy, its bony plates and antibiotic blood, insures resilience.
We armor ourselves similarly, collect our epithets like gems. Ending
any story is a challenge: one sees grit within the grifter. Another purls
thundercloud to thundercloud just to survive. I’ve known many Sarahs
who wear their genesis with indifference. On others, it juts out like a stooge,
an off-tooth begging to be pulled.