09/11 | Islamophobia | Love and hope in difficult times
The Day After
A poem about the loss of innocence and security
We went to bed early last night. Something bad happened while we were at school yesterday Our teachers looked upset. But, no one would tell us why
My sister and I always had so much fun at recess We loved playing jump rope with the other girls We did not have recess yesterday But, no one would tell us why
Mama picked us up after school like always But, Papa was already home; he never got home that early Papa and Mama looked very serious. But, no one would tell us why
It was a long time before everyone was asleep Our older brother, Ashad, tiptoed into our room He told us that some bad men attacked the United States But no one could tell him why
Ashad told us the bad men were Muslim like us — but not He told us Mama and Papa were afraid people would blame us Why would they? We love America! Our baby brother was born here! But no one could tell us why
This morning, after breakfast, we went to our room to get dressed. There were new clothes and shoes on the bed. Jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes. American clothes, not our khaddar that we loved to wear. But somehow we knew. No one had to tell us why.
This is a poem about the day after 9/11 and how two young Pakistani girls viewed the event. The girls were students in the school where I was a counselor. Prior to 9/11 the girls wore traditional children’s clothes from their home country. This two piece “outfit”, shown in the AI-created image, is called a khaddar. Everyone, children and teachers alike, always complimented them on how cute they looked. The shy little girls beamed at the compliments.
On September 12, 2001, their mother dressed them in “American” clothes; probably purchased the night before. They appeared to be brand new. This was the only way she knew how to protect them. The clothes served as a shield against a world that had suddenly grown uncertain. This poem captures a snapshot of their innocence, their bewildered questions left unanswered, and the bittersweet necessity of adopting “American” attire.
I remember feeling very sad that day when I saw the two girls, and have never forgotten them or the look on their faces. This memory has been locked away for all these years. As a mother myself, I cannot imagine how their mother felt sending her children to school on 9/12/2001.
As I wrote the last stanza, I realized tears were streaming from my eyes. I tried to read the poem to my wife and barely choked out the last sentence.
Why does our world have to be so cruel?
As always, I am grateful to be able to publish my poetry in Paper Poetry. I am indebted to editor Carolyn Hastings for her patience with this septuagenarian, as I always manage to provide her with something to edit! More than that, I am grateful for her friendship.
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