While a woman’s dragged flailing
from the street tonight (a protester,
I see her teeth and jeans), my mother
takes the dog around the block
at noon in America.
It is sunny.

I see nothing of America at noon
in central Istanbul tonight, no Frisbees
hurled among the buildings, no boys
with pizza on the steps, no mothers
abstractedly content
with corgis.

Freedom Street grows narrower
and narrower. I see boys with shields,
tear gas rising over Gezi Park.
I hear the woman screaming
her name, her innocence,
again and again.