Mortal Gods Demand a Sacrifice

Sitting in my knitted blanket,

worming through Twitter updates on abusive husbands,

neglected African American artists,

dead children-

I can be as cynical as I want.

Every disdainful sip of coffee declaring humans to be the filthiest animals.

But who am I to deny the majesty,

the power,

the sheer audacity

of the athletes on my TV screen as they dance on ice, fly through the frigid air?

Athletes competing against each other for the heavy honor of carrying the nations which birthed them on their backs,

like all deities.

Hopes and dreams beyond themselves hooked into their performances.

Transformed from uniquely beautiful creatures into impossible beings, and we,

the simple, cynic, coffee sippers,

sit in awe.

Our gods live here with us,

not in Valhalla,

not in Olympus,

not in some nebulous dream state,

but in the here and now with us other mortals.

Sacrifices must be made for these finite gods and,

for today,

I sacrifice my bitter humor.