Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth
“Amel’s hardened nipples push throughthe paisley of her blouse, minarets calling men to worship.When they left, I was twelve years old and swollenwith the heat of waiting. We hugged at the departure gate,waifs with bird chests clinking like wood, boyish,long skirted figurines waiting to growinto our hunger. My mother uses her quiet voice on the phone:Are they all okay? Are they healing well?She doesn’t want my father to overhear. Juwariyah, my age, leans in and whispersI’ve started my period. He...r hair is in my mouth whenI try to move in closer– how does it feel?She turns to her sisters and a laugh that is not hersstretches from her body like a moan.She is more beautiful than I can remember.One of them pushes my open knees closed.Sit like a girl.MoreLess
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