Mistaken Identity

Violence erupted after the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and many innocent people were beaten by people who made assumptions about their cultures and beliefs.

Working at Seven Eleven

on September twelfth, I

hear the bell ring softly, and

this time I don’t cringe.

Through my welled up eyes,

I barely see the man who

is about to reach across

cashed in lottery tickets

under glass, protecting them

from my Indian blood

which begins to pool

across the smooth surface.

Blinded by ignorance, and

fueled by bigoted fury

this man who knows nothing

of my home

of my culture

of my life

makes life ending assumptions

while screaming obscenities

that still echo in America

long after my death.

His hate smolders like the embers

currently cremating my wife

eighteen blocks away, where

the towers once stood.

He leaves, tracking bloody footprints

onto the ash covered sidewalk and

the last sound I hear is the

gentle bell that my wife loved so much.

Reviews

[Rita L. Sev]

So well told, this sad tale of ignorance and fear. Your last stanza really told the reality - every culture in America was affected by those attacks; the pain of losing a loved on in such a way is equal for everyone. This is a poem that needs to be read... Well done, Derek.

[Luke Rawlings]

How this only has one review I will never know. This piece, right there, is what poetry is all about. The strength and emotion of your words is amazing. I will send as many read requests out as I can for this piece. You have one hell of a talent.

[Derek ubuntu Dunham]

Wow, thank you!