Got to go.

I feel relief as I shut the door

in their faces.

Ammi’s gaze on me

cools.

Practice

Ammi’s gaze on me warms

when I practice wearing

my hijab

a little bit

now and then

to Walmart

to Pizza Hut

other places too.

In the beginning

the looks of others spear me

but the more I wear it

the easier it becomes.

The more I wear it

the looks seem to

soften.

Spring Conferences

A kernel of an

idea

of hope

curls in my mind.

I think I would like

to try to wear it

tonight.

This time, I say:

This is my mom.

This is my dad.

This time,

I introduce them

to people.

This time,

you can see from my hijab

loosely looped

and my mother’s hijab

tightly wrapped

that we are related.

Family.

The way it’s meant

to be.

Part Nine

Owais’s Room

His shelf is bare

swimming medals

stuffed in a drawer

no longer smirking

at me.

Hollowness pools

inside of me.

Now what?

Without Owais

Loneliness is the color

of the swimming pool

today.

Without Owais,

I match the mood

of the pool:

Blue.

Offerings

I offer my brother

invitations to the pool

in blue and green pastels,

the colors of hope.

Come back to the

the blue cocoon.

I tell him

it’s safe again.

You are my

Underwater Sibling.

Come back, please?

I bring him

a note

from Coach Kelly

urging him

to come back

to practice.

Instead he shrugs

it all away.

I like tennis, he says.

Returning

My grandfather Nana Abu does not smile

for photos,

doesn’t smile on Skype either,

but

when I tell him

we are bringing Dadi back,

returning

on June 12th

for a visit,

his smile fills the screen,

his voice becomes

floating bubbles

of laughter.

My Father

It is not fair

of me to say that

my father is here

just for job security

and schools.

He is here

and we are here

because he believes

this is where

we should be.

Thirsty

But still,

I am thirsty

for home.

I want to see Nana and Nana Abu

and Asna

and everyone else.

Friends

Every Sunday,

my father wakes

at the white thread of dawn

and goes to the mosque

with food in hand

for the Breakfast Club.

Sometimes it is

warm flaky parathas,

doughy circles full of air,

scooped balls

of watermelon,

eggs that are so so spicy,

enough for six men.

And my father,

I realize,

is making friends too.

Hobbies of My Brother

Every day

after school,

Owais doesn’t go with me

to the Rec Center.

Instead, he plays tennis

with his friend

Michael Lee

who lobs the ball

high

high

high

and Owais,

who always has

an eye on the ball,

smashes it

low

low

low.

And this time

if the ball goes

into the net,

he picks it right up,

dusts off the fluff,

soft and yellow,

and keeps on playing.