scattershot.
My image always looks strange through the camera on my laptop.
I log in to the Zoom meeting five minutes early [like my mother taught me] and wait for the HR rep to join. I take advantage of my solitude, turn the blur on for my background, twist my hair the way I like it when it’s reflected this way. I try to make it stay where I put it so I don’t mess with it during the interview. I try to make it just so. Just there. Stay. If I have to touch it over the next fifteen minutes, I’m out. If I can’t even control my own hair, I certainly can’t handle anything important.
I straighten the collar of my shirt.
I practice my smile. [Are my eyes wide enough? I never opened them wide enough in pictures as a child. Everyone told me that. Everyone complained about that. Take it again. Are they open wide enough now? Can you tell I’ve been crying?]
Enough. Don’t move.
Camera off.
At least 30 dead in Gaza after
an Israeli airstrike hits
a school used as a shelter.
The second black square appears next to the one that is me, the one with my name; the one that, in a moment, will be my face just as I’ve positioned it.
Rabia’s audio connects. Silence. Static.
a school used as a shelter.
“I’d love to get a better sense of what you’re doing now, why you’re interested in this position, and why you’re looking for a change.”
Everything has a sheen to it,
like dirty glass, or too clean glass,
or trees reflected in pond water in mid-summer.
The backs of my eyes ache from screens.
From thinking.
From grinding my teeth, chewing my gums.
[I skipped the dentist last week. I should reschedule that.]
But I can’t stop. Staring. Thinking. Grinding.
My jaw works and works and works, even now,
even with though not just about
At least 30 dead in Gaza after
an Israeli airstrike hits
a school used as a shelter.
“I’ve been working in higher ed, mainly responsible for application review, advising, and our communications plans. I integrate new content and student feedback into our email campaigns as well as manage sends and engagement of our comms through our CRM. We work very closely with our community to make sure our messaging is clear and helpful to the new student experience.”
[Is that how I practiced it? Is that what’s written on the note I wrote to myself before this?]
Were they told to evacuate?
Did they know?
Did it matter?
“I’m really excited by the chance to expand my skills in a new space and am especially excited by the communications aspect to the job description. I want to find a way to really use my background in writing to impact the community I work with.”
[Was that this job, or another one? Am I sucking up? Am I too enthusiastic?]
What time was it when the bombs fell?
What’s the time difference, I keep forgetting?
If someone had called in the middle of it all,
could they have felt the impact
the horror
the impossibleness of it
through the wires?
Would they have known what was happening,
or would they blame a bad connection?
“My current position, while valuable, hasn’t had as many opportunities for growth as I hope to have coming into a new institution. I’m looking forward to hearing more about the atmosphere and impact of a school like yours.”
[Is that true? Do I want that? Does she know I just can't stand my boss, my coworkers, everything that isn’t something else? Can she read it in the bullets on my resume; in the way my hair has begun unraveling from my shoulder, just a little, just so; in the way I want this job the same way I want my hands to stop shaking, for the same reasons – because I need it, because if I don’t get it, nothing will change. I can’t change. And everything burns anyway. Is that enough for a “growth-mindset”?]
A school, it was a school yesterday.
Used as a shelter.
It is a hospital today.
A hospital.
And tomorrow.
And tomorrow.
And tomorrow.
And …
“That’s all great to hear. Do you have any questions for me that I can pass along to the hiring team?”
How does your community deal with aerial attacks?
Is there anywhere safe to go on campus that hasn’t
been hit yet and won’t be hit tomorrow?
Do you know what an F-16 fighter jet sounds like?
Do you know what it feels like
when you know you’re about to die?
When you’ve known you’re about to die?
When you somehow stay alive, and all you can taste
is rubble
is soot
When all you can hear is the
screams of those planes
and the screams of children
and the silence that echoes on the other side
of phone screens
camera lenses
from people who want to do so much
of course they want to do so much
they’re human [too]
but what can they do
really
what can they do but watch you
from way over there
way on the other side of those screens
when they have beds to go home to
and doors to lock and roofs to hold out the sky
and windows to close curtains over
so the sun doesn’t wake them up too early in the morning
through dirty glass.
Too clean glass.
“No, nothing you haven’t answered already. I look forward to hearing from you later this week. Thank you for your time. Have a good rest of your Monday.”
Read more from mypoetmuse and project creator, Matt Cantor @Gaza_Closed_Captions
