my daughter picks a piece of bread smothered / in glistening honey and waves it from her high chair, / tantalizing the tiny, shiny dots of bodies crawling near
/ kitchen crevices. in a split second, / she tosses the sugary glob on the floor and claps.
pick up locusts by their wings, twirling
and inspecting their speckled translucency
until an elder scolds and flicks the insect away.
“All Muslim children should be either homeschooled or put into an Islamic school. And if a parent needs to work, or cannot afford Islamic school, then they should sell their house if need be.” The khatib continues…
hush your hoarse and cracked voice and write / with a splotchy gel pen, a permanent marker rolling / in the junk drawer, a stolen ballpoint from a doctor’s office…
that you & I will be wrapped in a shroud the color of snow / and musk made of honeysuckles or jasmines…
I do not write about you / because you are everything good and whole and sacred, / I have a tendency to only write about wilted brokenness: /
the chipped cup, the forest blight, / the deer’s tangled antlers…
Thoughtful reads. Writing prompts. New pieces.
It just might become your favorite email in your inbox, insha'Allah.
