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mud made

Zaynab Al-Sayed September 7, 2020

August 29, 1998
1:46 am
Toledo Hospital

high pitched wails deafen,
the song of life.

she grows, slowly then all at once.

chubby fingers clench around fabric,
determination bursting the seams of a two-foot frame.
legs rattling, she stands for the first time.
exuberant praise earns gummy smile.

a little girl sat cross legged on the floor,
all wild eyes and frizzy curls.
it was dead silent in the tv room,
for no nonsense was allowed
while maggie and the ferocious beast plays.
her ears pricked, honing in 
the crunch of gravel under rubber,
a thud and skitter of a soccer ball,
exuberant chatter floods the sidewalk.
all her mom sees is a blur, 
and front door is flying off its hinges
“mama i’m going outside!”
her only daughter sprinting,
desperate to join the fray of neighborhood kids.
her mother wondering when she got so big.

she hides in the bushes, dylan by her side.
hands trembling, clutched white knuckled
around the tweety bird scissors her mom bought.
a deep breath and, she grabs one of her braids.
snip.
two inches of pre-pubescent rebellion,
flutter to the ground.

 thin academy wood presses into her,
rigid as the minds of her peers.
mock-u-mentary flickering across the screen,
extremist philosophy guised as a religious and cultural norm.
her breath quickens with anger and indignation.

it’s wrong.

how could an educator facilitate fearmongering?
stamping their signature on countless death certificates.
the thundering drum of her heart consumes her,
say something!
clammy hands fidget, tapping her pen,
leg bouncing, stomach writhing,

she raises her hand.

a 15-year-old hunches forward, budding frame coiled
frantic to absorb all aspects of mise-en-scène,
lights flicker, dancing across prescription lenses.
she’s entranced.
dynamic characters, intoxicant dialogue,
nestled elegantly in a beautiful story.
here her love of film is born.
the basement, her hira.

she steps out onto clouds,
brimming with unrestrained glee.
plastic fob nestled into her palm,
grinning she puts the key in the ignition,
and turns. engine sparks to life.
she taps a message “i’m on my way”
the meaning transformed,
with the acquisition of a little plastic card.

the day before graduation,
she fidgets in the cracked salon chair.
silver foil glinting, black smock two sizes too big.
the foil comes off and,
blonde streaked through dark brown,
she smiles.

it never seemed like much,
not a place of substance or stature.
but toledo is where i became me.

In prose Tags mud made, prose, poetry
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