Istaqfurulah
My mother says this city is slowly killing all our women;
practising back strokes at the local swimming pool.
I think of Kadija, how her body had failed her
on the way down from the block of flats.
The instructor tells us that the longest
a human being has held their breath under water
is 19 minutes and 21 seconds. At home in the bath,
my hair swells to the surface like vines, I stay submerged
until I can no longer stand it, think of all the things
I have allowed to slip through my fingers.
Inna lillahi Wa inna ilaihi Rajioon.
My mother says no one can fight it —
the body returning to God,
but the way she fell, face first,
in the dirt,
mouth full of earth,
air, teeth, blood,
wearing a white cotton baati,
hair untied and smoked with ounsi,
I wonder if Kadija believed
she was going to float.