Get Out:
The Vote
Because you think I’m a robot;
Two unnatural creatures, others
By all dimensions—constructed,
Impossible, unfamiliar with the way
A newborn lays her head against
Her mother’s shoulder, confident
It will be there, looking at the light
Coming in the window without permission.
We are both forty, the number of years
Of exile, of manna instead of dates
And saffron, of ordinary wandering
And being expected to have answers.
I have answers and I know some are right—
I know you may not believe me without my hand
To hold, without the sound of my voice, coughing
With winter’s first cold. What if you felt welcomed,
What if I could reach through the screen?
Have to tell me the truth but you did. You’re not hopeless,
Neither must I be. The sky over the desert is blue, light
And then dark, the baby’s eyes are blue, dark and then light.
She doesn’t stop making noise, even when she is suckled.