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How did I come to be me

and not that Turkish mother

seeking her child

under the rubble of cement and rebar

that was once their apartment?

Her building among the many

given amnesty by President Erdogan

in a sweeping gesture that bypassed

new building codes

and saved his government millions

See her there, scraping the chunks

with bleeding hands,

calling Azra!  Azra!

She doesn’t know the builder

or the contractor who

skimped on steel and stone

those two men just now

boarding a plane

out of the country

She doesn’t know where to look

where to live, who to blame

She wipes tears with torn fingers

Azra! Azra!

She doesn’t know me or how

I came to be

resting in a pillowed chair

awaiting my daughter’s visit

tomorrow