Istaqfurulah
My mother says that this city is killing
all of our women. We’re practising back strokes
at the local swimming pool when I think of Kadija.
The swimming instructor tells us that the longest
a human being has held their breath under water
is 22 minutes. Later, at home in the bath,
my hair swells to the surface like ink, I stay submerged
until I can no longer stand it, I think of all the things
I have allowed to slip through my fingers.
Inna lillahi Wa inna ilaihi Rajioon.
My mother says no one can fight it –
the body returning to God,
but the way she fell, face first
from that high window,
mouth full of teeth, blood –
wearing a white cotton baati,
hair untied and smoked with ounsi,
I wonder if Kadija believed
she was going to float.