Her Faith Is Not Blind

She cannot see the turquoise
Mediterranean, or smell the forgiving
salt in the air. But a bitter breeze

pushes her hijab close to her nose,
the black cloth wrapping darkness
around her face and eyes; over her head.

Her assailants are toying with her
faith, they try to shimmy it down
with guile words and a strap

of stiff cloth cradling her hooded head.
Fear climbs up her legs, torso, and grabs
her around the throat; she shakes

it off. Her mouth will not be silenced.
Once, only the Shahada was uttered
from her lips, but now, only simple prayers

like the ones the Jew would have said
before they hung him, before his enemies
crucified him.