You are walking down the street, and
You look over your shoulder, and
You see a woman, and
You wave to her, because
You recognize her,
She’s your neighbor,
She looks like
You.
A few days later,
You are walking down the street, and
You look over your shoulder, and
You see a woman, and
You are immediately suspicious, because,
She is wearing a hijab, and
You aren’t, and that means, that
She is Different, and
Doesn’t look, like,
You.
It escalates.
You are walking down the street, and
You look over your shoulder, and
You see a group of people in the park, and
They are praying, and
Praying to the god they believe in, and
You don’t like this, because,
They are different,
They speak differently,
They look different,
They are smiling, but
You only see your differences, and
You shout,
“Go back where you came from!”, and
You feel no guilt, because
Those people, innocent people,
Aren’t exactly, like,
You.
The madness continues.
Your daughter comes home, and
She tells you about her new friend, that,
She made in first grade, and
Her friend’s name isn’t Mary, or Katherine,
Her friend’s name is Haifa, and
You don’t like this, because,
You know this name isn’t from around here, and
You know this means that,
Your daughter’s innocent first grade friend, is
Different, and
You send an angry email to the teacher, and
You say lots of things,
Mostly things that hurt us, and,
Things that say that We’re not welcome, and
You
Don’t
Want
Different.
You go to the PTA meeting, and
You see the woman there, and
She is wearing a hijab, and
You know this is different, and
You don’t like her, but
She tries to be nice, in
A different language, because,
She struggles with English, but
Is learning fast, and
Wishes no harm to anyone.
The president of the PTA begins, and
She talks about the carnival, and
The fundraiser, and
She asks,
Who will volunteer?
And many hands are raised, including,
Yours, and the woman wearing the hijab.
The president writes down every name,
Except, when she gets to the woman wearing the hijab,
She doesn’t know her name, so,
She asks, and
In broken English, the woman says,
My name is Yasmeen, and
My last name is
Angawi.
And my daughter is Haifa.
And the president of the PTA, doesn’t like this name, and,
You agree with her.
She doesn’t write it down, she says,
“We don’t need your help,
We don’t want your help,
We think, with all politeness, that
You should go back where you came from. ”
The woman wearing the hijab seems shocked, but
You don’t care.
She leaves, and
You
Are
Glad.
You are back to walking down the street, and
You look over your shoulder, and
You see a woman, and
Her daughter, and
Her husband, and
None of them look like,
You, and,
None of them speak your language, and
You don’t like this, but,
You realize, that,
You are not affected by them, and
It doesn’t matter that,
They are different, and
If we could all realize, that,
It
Doesn’t
Matter
If We’re different,
Because we fought to get here, and
We are here to stay.
