I said Assalamoalaikum to my mom on the train today.

the man in front of me turned

and I didn’t hear my mom say

Walaikum assalam

 

because my airpod fell off

when his head towered over mine

and my foot slipped

and i slid

Down

 

i didn’t hear my mom say

Walilakum Assalam

because i cut the call

 

i cut the call

while I slid down.

prostrating in front of the Man

was better than

having my mom hear him

asking me to prostrate before him.

 

i didn’t hear my mom say

Walilakum Assalam

because the Man was so so loud

and the floor was so so cold

and the people were so very silent

and my knees were not my own.

 

and i’m so glad

my knees were not my own

when they slid down

because

the floor was so so cold.

 

A Man attacked me on the station today

a different Man

different time of the day

 

His hand was on me.

on my

checkered scarf.

He called it

and by it i mean me

a motherfucking palestine motherfucker you fucking motherfucking bastards

 

It’s not a checkered scarf,

kufiya is the right word

 

If He was my friend,

i’d teach him about the economy of words,

and that perhaps

he could just call me a chutiya

instead of

a motherfucking palestine motherfucker you fucking motherfucking bastards

 

If he was my friend

i’d tell him

i’m not even a Palestinian

i’m just

their Friend.

 

my kufiya was in His Hand

and His spit

was on my face.

so much of it

on so much of my face

 

His spit was on my face

and my knees were not my own

but i did not touch the wet

wooden floor

of the california blue line station.

 

my knees were so diplomatic

teetering the void between

His and mine

and

mine and His

and

His and Mine

but my voice

oh my voice

was also

not my own

 

‘Did that make you feel better?’

 

‘Oh Marium,

Oh Momo,’

is what my ammi would have said

‘kabhi tou chup ho jaya karo.’ (learn to be silent sometimes)

 

‘Oh Ammi,

I didn’t even know I was speaking.’

 

My voice was not my own

when the man attacked me on the station today

no one has ever robbed me

so beautifully before

 

‘kabhi tou chup ho jaya karo.’

 

I have never been grateful

of being robbed before.

 

‘kabhi tou chup ho jaya karo.’

 

my knees were half my own today

when he turned away

and i slid down,

because the rain was so so loud

and the wood was

so very cold

and the people were silent.

 

and i knew

that being here

will always be

like being on this train.

 

and i knew

where I was

just because

my knees were on the floor.