Azza exchanges the robes of freedom
for the silky toabs of comfort, swears
gossip travels farther than hadeeth
ever could. no matter how many times
they burn down cities to ashes to
fuel islamophobia, the bond does not break.
no matter how many times we offer our
children to the fire, the flames remain insatiable.
our love letter to god never has any return address.

deep in sujood, I am one with the earth
always returning to Allah, but never arriving
Azza swears customs are stronger than
beliefs, no matter how many times I tried
to split the two, the bond remained covalent.
I am but a subatomic particle
always splitting, always dividing

When fire broke out in Mecca, the Mutawaa
traded his whip for a pair of binoculars
the school girls of 31 had no names, just
like all women the Arab boy donates two
Riyals for kiswa and feel entitled to
clothe all women

I wear Azza’s umbilical cord around
my waist, belt in all the dreams I lost in the fire
sometimes I am a small apartment city girl
other times I fall from my island hammock
to the countryside’s bungalow.

Azza continues to burn for us, until we see the
road back that leads us back to her

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