the couch unfurls, my mother sits, shoulders hunched over, she is 24 again. I am 7, hiding under the crib again. I hope allah loves me. beads rest between her fingers, she threads, I watch. a prayer mat sits folded. the coin jar collects dust, allah we need a miracle. this thread of beads and folded prayer mat is all there is. allah, give my mother a miracle. I am hiding under the crib again, too quiet for the world’s good. the couch asks why I won’t speak, I wish the words would form. I wish my mouth did the whisper thing she does. I wish the miracle was I, that allah loves me. the couch unfurls, my mother still sits. she laughs and I memorize the joke. she cries and I learn to pray. oh allah, take her sorrow, fold it, lay it on my heart. thread love in a coherent sentence resting on my mouth. put pounds of coins in my hands, allow my mouth to fill the coin jar. give me a seat on the couch, as a folded prayer mat rests on my lap. make it go away, make it come back. the coin jar sits open and empty. I am 24 again, the crib I hide under is this prayer mat. oh allah, I still hope you love me. the pennies sit on the edge of my lips. do the coins make a difference now? the jar brims with dust. my mother is 41 again, she threads beads between her fingers, somewhere in between, I learn to see the miracle. allah is here in this room, he hears her whispers, sees I hope she does too. I leave the pennies somewhere she can find it, I swept the dust off the coin jar. the couch hears my whispers, I hope Allah is proud, I hope He loves me. I hope He shows her how to.
your writing is insanely beautiful and this piece in particular made me feel so many emotions im crying
...the couch hears my whispers', wah