Scarves

Yasmeena Elmahdy

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I welcome my friend home:

The sweet, familiar aroma of dolma fills the air,

a speaker nearby blasts Amr Diab

while Mama beats dough.

She wears a scarf woven around her head.

 

The prayer alarm sounds, the strong bellowing voice

signals hurry to the prayer, hurry to salvation.

Mama pauses Amr Diab to get a prayer rug,

and my friend,

who has never tried dolma

and never listened to Amr Diab,

says to me:

 

“That alarm sounds like a screaming goat,

it sounds horrendous.”

 

Ever since that day, I ask Mama to lower the volume

of the Quran sounding from the car’s speakers

when we drive near my school.

 

Ever since that day, I fall on my knees, cry to Mama

about yet another person in school

snickering at my refusal to pork, marshmallows, Jell-O.

 

I hold you for another year,

and I put you down for another.

The short pang of confidence fades yet again,

and Mama doesn’t question it, pats my back.

She says, “Take your time,

don’t force yourself.”

 

I decide to wrap you around my head during a pandemic,

when no one can see, and no one can guess.

Next year, familiar people will tilt their heads in confusion.

 

And despite multiple missing signs,

news articles, the empty threats,

and the looks I get,

 

I couldn’t have been happier without you

and the solace and protection you give me.

 

 

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Yasmeena Elmahdy is an aspiring writer who lives in Union City, New Jersey. She is majoring in landscape architecture while minoring in creative writing and is excited to utilize both in the future. She is a freshman and will graduate in 2027.