Ramadan, 2019

by Fathima Zahra

We stalk the moon all month round, lick 

our lips, till the Adhan goes off on our phones,

dig our teeth into the soft flesh of dates, wash

it down with Roohafza, rinse and repeat. The 

scholars paste their eyes to the sky, the crowds 

trade their eyeballs for telescopes, watch the 

moon turn bashful, wait for henna stains

to appear, a gunshot signal to pull our smiles

out of the closet strutting in their Eid clothes.