Wet Dream
On the 974th night of covering my hair I dream of me, on a beach, blue bathing suit. Hairy legs and red stretch marks on the fronts of my thighs, backs of my knees. I saw an art piece about a coastal city where people ink Quran verses on wood, stick them in the sand. They reuse the plaques by letting the saltwater melt the words. Each component– water, ink, wood, sand–is considered holy. O my Lord! I think what makes me a good poet makes me a bad Muslim, but I’d like to believe, through Your Endless Forgiveness, in my own goodness. Me, my too many piercings, I let the waves throw me, never have I been unblest in my invocation to You.