i would wait 35 minutes in the wawa picking up the prepackaged snacks pretending i might buy one. listening to the rushing waste water, sometimes i walk over storm drains and hope they break. my lovers friend and i are arguing about kosher rules versus halal rules, i think about how in both religions the animal has to be drained of its blood from its throat. noor hindi writes about islam’s thorny embrace. no one ever has a lighter for me to borrow on the rooftop so i would let the cigarette hang from my mouth for hours. i could not stop saying inshallah and hoping it might summon (a) god. the cold always made me walk faster, it was the unforgiving wind. by the time i die i don’t want a shred of bare skin to be seen through my tattoos. my little sister didn’t wear her hijab through the airport security line, and instead pulled up her hood to cover her hair, i imagined killing anyone who looked at her. going to work events the wives always ask me if i’m married after they ask how many kids i have. black ripped tights and cigarette breath on the old farm with a freshly painted sign. i still can’t talk about what the radiation from the submarines did to my grandfather. bowls filled with 10$ yogurt and flax seeds in an attempt to fix my gut microbiome after my five day course of antibiotics for a uti, the second in four months. my curse was finally lifted when i tried to project myself into his dreams. will the rice cooker burn down the house? the air fryer? what about my small joints i only smoked a little of in the bathroom? the stairs went all the way to the roof, twelve stories. did the alarm still work? the guru i went to in 8th grade told me to repeat “i am safe”, i do it so much it becomes a prayer. knowing nothing of children but when my best friend’s daughter was born i could not stop crying. maybe when i die we can settle that old argument.
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