Two weeks at the age of twenty
I didn’t miss a single prayer.

Living in my mother’s perspective.

Prayers seeping between cupped hands
mouth in motion collapsing
into و, the opening.

I learned that [the river] has no tongue
except absence—

I mean patience.
Hunger. Either way, it’s summer
so the night curves into
ل
like a body bent in prostration.

Five times a day [the river] called out
to me and all I knew how to do was
answer on a lush prayer mat Sun
curling red patterns onto my skin.

But no one noticed

Not even [the river]
How I thinned into ا

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