by Noor Hindi
At the airport terminal, a woman is crying.
Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me, I —
I need to focus. On something besides.
The rush of migration. The lights so loud.
The unending sound. Of a newscaster’s voice.
Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Mother.
Please, forgive me. I want to call in dead.
Just last week, there was a child in a yellow
dress reading a poem. For minutes on end,
we could not be indifferent to anything.
Not the grass, dying yellow. Not the bombs,
twisting limbs. Not the cages. Not the —
Yes. there is a woman crying at terminal six.
Yes. I used a newspaper to cover my eyes.
Yes. I thought of the child in a yellow dress,
the tiny silver heart she placed in my palm.
Yes. I threw it in the trash, minutes later.
But I promise. I promise. I promise, I —
meant it as an act of survival. Maybe love.
Noor Hindi (she/her) is a Palestinian-American poet who is currently pursuing her MFA in poetry through the NEOMFA program. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Rumpus, Winter Tangerine, Tinderbox Poetry, and Cosmonauts Avenue. Her essays have appeared in or are forthcoming in Literary Hub and American Poetry Review. Hindi is a Senior Reporter for The Devil Strip Magazine. Follow her on Twitter @MyNrhindi, or visit her website at noorhindi.com.