Not Her
by Cindy Veach
I don’t see the days, Abdullah, age 9
The watch helps me remember our history, Ahmed, age 17
--Time Magazine
It feels wrong to sit in the waiting area of my hair salon
reading an article about Syrian refugees at the same time
a woman in foils goes on about why it’s condescending
for a waiter to address a woman old enough to cover her roots
as dear or sweetie. Wrong too that their words,
paired alongside pictures of items they carried,
rest on a retro coffee table. And if the words are the why
then isn’t it equally wrong that the flat screen in the corner
is chattering about a drunk woman who broke into Omaha’s
Henry Doorly Zoo to pet the poor three-legged Malaysian tiger?
It’s dangerous to be adrift in a sea of tigers. When the bigger ship
rammed the crowded dinghy it capsized. A refugee named Omar
couldn’t find his wife or children in the chop. All he could find
were plastic water bottles which allowed him to float
the rest of the way. Tell me, how is it okay for a colorist to be mixing
my personalized formula, as noted on a 3 x 5 index card
with my name on it, at the same time I’m reading this? And this--
Greek authorities erroneously reported they’d found
Omar’s wife—washed up and bloated. In other words,
the things they carried were nothing but failed amulets.
And isn’t it outrageous that the blonde “Live at Five” anchor
is telling me that the drunk woman will lose fingers?
They told Omar his dead wife was wearing boots.
I’m reading his exact words--She was barefoot in the boat
that’s how I knew it was not her--
when my colorist chirps, “We’re ready for you, dear.”
Cindy Veach is the author of Gloved Against Blood (CavanKerry Press), named a finalist for the 2018 Paterson Poetry Prize. Her poetry has appeared in the Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day, AGNI, Prairie Schooner, Michigan Quarterly Review, Sugar House Review and elsewhere. She is co-poetry editor of The Mom Egg Review.
This poem was first published in Women Studies Quarterly.
by Cindy Veach
I don’t see the days, Abdullah, age 9
The watch helps me remember our history, Ahmed, age 17
--Time Magazine
It feels wrong to sit in the waiting area of my hair salon
reading an article about Syrian refugees at the same time
a woman in foils goes on about why it’s condescending
for a waiter to address a woman old enough to cover her roots
as dear or sweetie. Wrong too that their words,
paired alongside pictures of items they carried,
rest on a retro coffee table. And if the words are the why
then isn’t it equally wrong that the flat screen in the corner
is chattering about a drunk woman who broke into Omaha’s
Henry Doorly Zoo to pet the poor three-legged Malaysian tiger?
It’s dangerous to be adrift in a sea of tigers. When the bigger ship
rammed the crowded dinghy it capsized. A refugee named Omar
couldn’t find his wife or children in the chop. All he could find
were plastic water bottles which allowed him to float
the rest of the way. Tell me, how is it okay for a colorist to be mixing
my personalized formula, as noted on a 3 x 5 index card
with my name on it, at the same time I’m reading this? And this--
Greek authorities erroneously reported they’d found
Omar’s wife—washed up and bloated. In other words,
the things they carried were nothing but failed amulets.
And isn’t it outrageous that the blonde “Live at Five” anchor
is telling me that the drunk woman will lose fingers?
They told Omar his dead wife was wearing boots.
I’m reading his exact words--She was barefoot in the boat
that’s how I knew it was not her--
when my colorist chirps, “We’re ready for you, dear.”
Cindy Veach is the author of Gloved Against Blood (CavanKerry Press), named a finalist for the 2018 Paterson Poetry Prize. Her poetry has appeared in the Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day, AGNI, Prairie Schooner, Michigan Quarterly Review, Sugar House Review and elsewhere. She is co-poetry editor of The Mom Egg Review.
This poem was first published in Women Studies Quarterly.