there is very little light in here,
but we’re used to this.
we worry about taking too long.
we worry about someone knocking
on the door, someone asking us
what we’re doing here,
someone making us leave.
before this, yosra jokes
about lining her hijab with safety pins
while we waited for a white family
to clean up their table, the white father
stared at yosra for too long
& said i’m so sorry, referring to the crumbs
& coffee stains he & his family had made
they had made this mess not thinking
we would have to sit here in it.
still, at the same time, we tell him,
don’t even worry about it, because we have done
all of the worrying for them our entire lives
because we have learned to forgive
every space we enter, because our mothers
have taught us to bring cleaning supplies
because yosra always keeps a roll of string
in her purse for emergencies.
& the emergency, this time
is i’m about to see a white boy & i want him
to like me, my mustache looks like a stock ticker
for money i will never have
or subtitles to a foreign movie
with an actress i will never look like
maybe, one day, i’ll actually be chill
like the white girls, the ones who don’t shave
for political reasons, the ones who took
an entire election cycle to grow
out a tuft of armpit hair, who say, you are crazy
it’s all in your head why don’t you just love yourself more,
i don’t even see it what are you talking about!
the tragedy is everyone was trying to be nice
while denying the emergency that bloomed
around us. yosra sees the hair because she knows
where to look. okay, she says, putting the string
between her teeth, this is the most middle eastern thing
i’ve ever done. & i think of what the most
guatemalan-colombian thing i’ve ever done
is & maybe it’s grow. i think about the most american
thing we’ve ever done & it’s hide in this bathroom.
i think about the most womanly thing
we’ve ever done & it’s live anyway.
this isn’t oppression. this is, i got you.
i believe you. it hurts but what else are we going to do
it aches but we have no other choice do we.
yosra tells me she’s leaving, says, i’m not going to struggle
for a country that doesn’t even want me.
& i think of the spanish word Ojalá,
derived from arabic. meaning, god willing.
if god wills it. if god wants it.
if i even believe in god anymore.
if yosra, mercilessly, lovingly, stringing the hairs out
of my face is a kind of prayer, then god will it,
then god damnit. we will live in this low light
i tell yosra okay, let’s go, i’m ready.
but she says, no, no. hold still.
we are not done yet.