and makes mutedtsking sounds
as she puzzles over diagnoses
and prescribed treatments.
But she does not talk to me.
I wonder…
Should we return to Afghanistan early?
Should we flee America,
and the monsters who lurk
in its idyllic towns?
Because what if it had been Mama,
beaten because of her flowing hijab?
What if it had been Baba’s frail body,
dragged into a dark alley?
I raise the topic aloud,
and Baba reminds me:
“Leaving America early
is the same as succumbing to fear.
Leaving America early
means prejudice has won.”
I am not surprised by his response;
he is stubborn and he is righteous.
I long to be more like him.
He and Mama stay with me
until the sun ducks behind the horizon.
As they ready to leave for the cottage,
Baba promises they will return tomorrow.
Mama looks relieved to be on her way.
She is disappointed because I have sinned,
and because I have been attacked.
I am disappointed, too,
