For the month of February, each writer’s post will begin with the same line, which we’ve borrowed from Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five.

All this happened, more or less.

We woke up and turned to each other instead of our phones,
And even so, there was no shocking headline.

People started asking, “Who was that white guy who hosted the reality show?”
Instead of, “Who was that black man who penned the poems?”
We all carpooled to work the next day
And thus, the hole in the ozone got smaller
(Although the scientists said it was impossible)

At school, Yemeni students taught teachers Arabic words
And we spent the whole day reading poems about oxygen
And writing thank you notes to the trees

I walked home past construction sites
Where the male and female workers (of all races)
Looked me straight in the eye and said, “Good evening”
and I said “Thank you for building functional and affordable homes
for people of any demographic.”

I met my girlfriend at a bar and we listened to each other
We talked about more than our relationships with men
And what our women friends were doing wrong.
On the televisions (which were few), the underdog teams won

At dinner, we held hands
and prayed out loud at the restaurants.
Everyone did.
To different gods.
And no one minded.

Everyone tipped well.
Slept well.
Loved well.

Some of this happened.

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