To My Husband At The Beginning Of The Holy Month Of Ramadan
Even though you no longer believe, you wake with me before dawn. You prepare my breakfast: porridge, sliced banana, a cup of tea, a glass of water. While sunrise hesitates, you hold my hand and watch me, the one who will fast for the month, dawn to sunset in these blessed weeks. I know you remember taking those last gulps of water before the long days; the sweet taste of dates after hours without food. Sleepy, you kiss my temples and go back to bed. I wash my limbs and hair, wet my face, rinse my mouth. My feet are damp on the wool of your old prayer rug. I lift my hands and say, God is greater, prayer is better than sleep. I recite the words, press my forehead to the ground. Over each shoulder I whisper, Peace, and ask the angels to pray for you. When the prayer is finished and the holy book rests quiet, I slip back into bed, and your arms welcome me, the rising sun just beginning to crack through the curtains.
The Feast At The End Of Ramadan: Eid Al-Fitr
Ramadan ends tomorrow, and we are in the airport cafe, quiet. The city has started celebrating. As we arrived in Kuala Lumpur, fireworks bloomed in the sky. Our next flight has been delayed: the winds are unsettled. You stir your tea; your toast uneaten on the plate. You cannot believe in God; my days and nights are punctuated by prayer. I have not yet forgiven you for your unbelief. You sweep the wayward strands of hair back under my scarf, but you will not celebrate with me, will not believe no matter how much I want you to. You lean across the table and say, Happy Eid, my loveliness. The weather calms enough to fly home, where I make basbousa for the neighbors and you stand next to me on their stoops, wishing them joy and peace. After their doors close, we return home, our hands clasped tight. What can be done? I am an unforgiving person who loves you terribly.
