there,

everywhere.

With a friend,

my feet feel light,

like my name.

With a friend,

I don’t have to stitch

my mouth tightly

together.

With a friend,

I let the corners

of my mouth

curl into a smile.

Swim Tryouts

Stahr swims like me

and

I swim like Stahr.

We share the same pace

arms slapping the water

feet kicking.

We talk about

how we want to make the team

how we want to win medals

and Stahr wants to know

How did Owais get so good?

We float lazily

and giggle giddily

until Coach Kelly claps

her hands

and barks

Okay, ladies,

less talking,

more swimming!

But this only makes us

laugh louder,

and Coach Kelly

offers us a little smile.

Strokes

It’s all about the strokes,

says Coach Kelly.

You want your arms to

slice

the water

not slap.

This I can understand.

For art

with my pencil

I can press hard

to get darker colors

light strokes

for light colors.

For swimming:

quick strokes,

precise strokes,

to win.

Alyson

In geometry class,

Mr. Ferguson sings the

quadratic formula.

Negative b

Negative b

Plus or minus square root

Plus or minus square root

b squared minus 4ac

b squared minus 4ac

all over 2a

all over 2a.

While he sings

and I doodle,

the sunlight

is making friends with my hair.

My arms are so long they can easily reach

the tops of the cabinets to get a glass,

to drink wader not water,

but my legs are not so long,

I am the shortest,

always the shortest in the class.

And Alyson who looks like the person

on the cover of the magazine,

and whose arms and legs

and everything in between

are exactly the size they should be,

puts down her pencil and says,

Omigosh Nurah, your hair is so pretty.

Surprised, I put my pencil down,

and let my lips whisper, Thank you.

Owais

I have better hair,

but his face is better looking than mine.

If you take a loaf of oatmeal bread,

I am the brown heel of the bread.

He is the white inside.

His lashes are longer than mine

even though he is a boy.

His lips fuller

even though he is a boy.

When I was little,

I thought Owais and I looked alike.

But now when I hear the aunties talk about us,

my ears pay attention

and I realize

we don’t look alike at all.

Aunties will smile wider

when he is around

will compliment his looks

the slice of his dimple

when they think he can’t hear,

but they forget that

we can hear

much more

than they think.

Masjid

At the masjid

I am covered.

You can see just my face

and hands.

Here we are mirrors

of each other.

Everyone here is almost all brown—

different shades,

and I feel like I can breathe easier,

like I’m almost home.

With my forehead down

on the prayer mat,

cool and soft,

I pray for me

to make the swim team.