Baggage Claim by Sarah Carey

Baggage Claim
(remembering Fatemeh Reshad)

We open our doors, our hearts
is what your parents read we said—

you who were turned away
at the gate, infant Iranian girl
with holes in the walls of your heart.

You whose parents believed what they read
about America. Some of us worked harder,

like your heart back then, carried your case
to Senators and secretaries, anyone who’d listen,
beating doors, spelling it out

until they let you in. Doctors said the operation
went much better than expected, you’d survive,

but the travel ban is back again,
Iran’s gone dark, and you have long since
vanished from the news.

Four months old then, you’d be 9 now
if you’d thrived. In the next world, we might live

on our reprieves—a currency of grace—
but there are bills to pay and groceries
we can’t afford and bodies everywhere

the protests have not eased. If your heart fails
yet again and you dream of sanctuary,

any hint a heart remains here in this country
we once believed we knew, you will find us
next to the free lawyers in baggage claim,

our signs with your name,
our arms open.

*

Sarah Carey is the author of two full-length poetry collections, The Grief Committee MInutes (2024, Saint Julian Press), and Bloodstream (2026, Mercer University Press.) She is a graduate of the Florida State University creative writing program and lives in Gainesville, Florida with her family.