On Trying My Hand at Hope

A few weeks ago—back when we were complaining that Black History Month was cancelled and we should move it to June; back when our anxieties were high but not astronomical—I was scrolling Twitter and saw a tweet that asked writers to share the most hopeful poems, essays, and stories they had written. I didn’t post anything. And I didn’t bother reading the responses. Off the top of my head, I didn’t believe I had written anything that could be classified as “hopeful”—at least not how I saw it as the author. It’s always different for readers.

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