a word is an image.

a word is an image.

and with a co-opted imagination,
there i was, refusing to look.

scared to death of white supremacy’s verdict,
on a black woman in the making,

only knew desirability the virtue,
and darkness, muscularity, aggression,

the feminine moral failings — knew not of
difference, power, and defense: signs underlying

a word… is an image,
and kaafir is derived from kufr, to cover.

in her shared dorm room she wore makeup to sleep,
didn’t have the heart to behold, or be held, but believed,

in justice embodied by bleach and surgery,
and maybe some faith would do me good.

a word is an image.

and my mother is screaming.
and bell hooks said the work of love,
is listening even when it hurts.

why am i acting like i don’t speak her language?
i learned power from defending her.
i need not fear my heart beating strong.

for Allah is near,
an association greater than my recall of conflict,
she exchanges rest for catharsis,

and i join her.
a word is an image,
and Ar-Rahman is derived from rahm, womb.

in the darkness, resistance incubates,
in the stillness, minds pace,
she orates, i tap keys which clack.

the choice is ours to record or forget.

a word is an image.

and here i am, staring my prior refusal down.
the mess creeps in on my bed,
and i dream of torture.

a word is an image,
and prayer is somewhere to put the truth.
and faith is the new virtue,

and my dysmorphia is spiritual now.
not praying is painful,
forced prayer even more so.

if not through externalized devotional acts,
or embodiment,
i must locate God within.

and perhaps i’m the masc i needed all along.