American Sonnet Like Prayer
by Munira Tabassum Ahmed
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trace the gentle morning with your mouse
Here, the wind is preaching to its only son,
early dawn / I am patient in its new home,
knowing this is where it makes itself most
tender. My grandmother sits in the absence still
five minutes until Fajr
/ she resembles an empire
as she watches false light on the soft horizon.
The sky isn’t so busy anymore. Sometimes it needs
to rest. We are made delicate against the fading dark.
I am unsure if I’ll become a ghost now or soon,
but I’ll ready myself regardless. She lays down
the prayer mat and
opens the window to the calm
outside / she tells me that this quiet is holier. I say
thank you like prayer, like I’m glad we are here together, like
I am waiting for you in tomorrow’s dawn .
