Passing Time

Look how time passes.

It’s halfway through April,
and our smiles are starting to match the weather.
In May, I sat, undisturbed, indifferent, in an empty mosque.
Nighttime always stayed beneath my eyes well into the day.
In August I stared up, star-eyed, at a cobalt sky, in a stranger’s city.
When the sun set, we touched our foreheads to the earth,
rooted, grounded, entrenched.
In December, I shook, sobbing, in a bathroom stall.
Leaning against the stall door, biting my lip, forcing silence, I begged God for recompense.
In March, we teetered in pencil-thin high heels,
breathing vapor and happiness into the frigid blackness with each round of laughter.
Embrace after embrace, I was reminded that everything was not for nothing.
Now its halfway through April,
and we’re waiting for the trees to blossoms their flowers.
“Oh Allah grant me ease.”
Look how hard times pass: before you know it, ease has arrived, and memories of struggle are tinted gold.

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