my father unpacks his suitcase that is still shedding sudanese dust around the handles and hands me a hijab that my cousin’s tender fingers picked herself from a thousand ways to say i love you to a face you haven’t seen in a sorrowful decade/ the scent of bakhour hovers in the threads/ rests in the … Continue reading poetry// thread count

few understand the burden of being introduced as your Father’s Daughter. All of a sudden your words are not your own but the both of yours the way you hold your head the way you dress the way you form syllables and sit down to eat and greet the old woman at the door are … Continue reading poetry// confessions

i break my self in half like a ripe loaf of bread / the crack of my spine like the peppery taste of crumbs in the air as shattered crust exposes soft yeasty insides. / i split in two like a lentil in a black pot / on an old woman’s stove / like a … Continue reading poetry// fragility

I am not my father He is immigrant & I have never been one. He is tall & I am me and so I am not my father. I am loud & his voice is strong enough to be soft and not collapse. He is a healer & I write poetry He is orphaned & … Continue reading poetry// thickener

When I am this far off the ledge, barely dangling, you cannot love me home Wait for me at the bottom instead. Upturn your arms, Become The Home I think about the times here I grimace at myself and my mouth. I needn't split my hands to mold strange people into good friends, I have … Continue reading poetry// acrobatics

God is good to me. I wait & I wait & I wait And each morning I rise I stumbled out of bed And stay frozen there Sometimes. God is good to me. I bite my tongue and let the blood collect in my mouth I tear up my clothes and scatter them around my … Continue reading poetry// illness

what is fajr to the modern Muslim? The crack of dawn and the breath of a cold and weary room exchange a tender kiss and I am a witness. This bed is warm and sleep is too and it is so nice to be numb in this world of pain. What does it mean to be … Continue reading poetry// daybreak

So I'm back at my old childhood masjid for winter break and I head over on my own and I pray and I sit and I have never felt this way before and so I write about it: (note: poem edited April 2018) This masjid is no longer mine to swallow. i cough up bits … Continue reading poetry// 46903 Sugarland Road