{"id":52875,"date":"2019-06-22T19:31:44","date_gmt":"2019-06-22T23:31:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=52875"},"modified":"2019-06-22T19:32:01","modified_gmt":"2019-06-22T23:32:01","slug":"hour-eleven-apology-the-trump-mug-in-my-grandparents-kitchen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2019\/06\/hour-eleven-apology-the-trump-mug-in-my-grandparents-kitchen\/","title":{"rendered":"Hour eleven: Apology: the Trump mug in my grandparents\u2019 kitchen"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>It floats in the dishwater<br \/>\nlike the eyeball of some<\/p>\n<p>great beast, watching me<br \/>\nthrough grease &amp; soap suds. <\/p>\n<p>my grandmother is saying<br \/>\nsomething about the rain, <\/p>\n<p>worrying about the nearby<br \/>\nfarmers &amp; the price of corn<\/p>\n<p>in the coming months,<br \/>\nbut all I can think about <\/p>\n<p>is the children living behind<br \/>\nchickenwire, sleeping on <\/p>\n<p>concrete floors.  When I used<br \/>\nto stay the night, my grandmother<\/p>\n<p>would bring in extra pillows<br \/>\n&amp; lay down beside me until<\/p>\n<p>I fell asleep, though my mother<br \/>\nwas only thirty miles away, <\/p>\n<p>though I had never gone<br \/>\na night without a goodnight <\/p>\n<p>kiss, my favorite stuffed<br \/>\nanimal. What would she say <\/p>\n<p>to a Syrian child crying for<br \/>\ntheir mother?  Could she look<\/p>\n<p>that child in the eye and call them<br \/>\nvermin, say that it doesn\u2019t matter <\/p>\n<p>if their home is in the belly<br \/>\nof a bombshell, that they<br \/>\nwill find no safety here?<br \/>\nOr would she hold that crying <\/p>\n<p>child &amp; hum until they fell<br \/>\nasleep, put them to bed <\/p>\n<p>in the guest room, line<br \/>\nthe mattress with pillows <\/p>\n<p>to protect them even as<br \/>\nthey slept? the mug turns <\/p>\n<p>in the grimy water &amp; I wonder<br \/>\nhow many grandparents had mugs <\/p>\n<p>with swastikas that spun<br \/>\nquietly in the sink while they<\/p>\n<p>talked about the price of corn<br \/>\n&amp; if it looked like rain again, <\/p>\n<p>never about what makes one child<br \/>\nmore human than another.  <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>It floats in the dishwater like the eyeball of some great beast, watching me through grease &amp; soap suds. my grandmother is saying something about the rain, worrying about the nearby farmers &amp; the price of corn in the coming months, but all I can&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1091,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-52875","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-miscellaneous"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52875","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1091"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=52875"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52875\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":52889,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52875\/revisions\/52889"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=52875"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=52875"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=52875"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}