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      February 23, 2015Why I Can Dance Down a Soul-Train Line in Public and Still Be MuslimAisha Sharif

      My Islam be black.
      Not that Nation of Islam
      “Don’t-like-white-folks”
      kind of black. I mean my Islam be
      who I am—black, born and raised
      Muslim in Memphis, Tennessee,
      by parents who converted
      black. It be my 2 brothers
      and 2 sisters Muslim too
      black, praying at Masjid Al-Muminun,
      formally Temple #55,
      located at 4412 South Third Street
      in between the Strip Club
      and the Save-A-Lot black.
      My Islam be bean pie black,
      sisters cooking fish dinners
      after Friday prayer black,
      brothers selling them newspapers
      on the front steps black, everybody
      struggling to pay the mortgage back
      black.
       
      My Islam be Sister Clara Muhammad School
      black, starting each day
      with the pledge of allegiance
      then prayer & black history
      black. It be blue jumpers
      over blue pants, girls pulling bangs out
      of their hijabs to look cute
      black. My Islam be black & Somali
      boys and girls, grades 2 through 8,
      learning Arabic in the same classroom
      cuz we only had one classroom
      black. It be everybody wearing a coat inside
      cuz the building ain’t got no heat
      black.
       
      My Islam be the only Muslim girl
      at a public high school
      where everybody COGIC asking sidewise,
      What church you go to?
      black. It be me trying to explain hijab
      black, No, I don’t have cancer. No,
      I’m not a nun. No, I don’t take showers
      with my scarf on. No, I’m not
      going to hell cuz I haven’t accepted
      Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior
      black. My Islam be riding on the city bus
      next to crackheads and dope boys
      black, be them whispering black,
      be me praying they don’t follow me home
      black.
       
      My Islam don’t hate Christians
      cuz all my aunts, cousins,
      and grandparents be Christian
      black. It be joining them for Easter
      brunch cuz family still family
      black. My Islam be Mus-Diva
      black, head wrapped up,
      feathered and jeweled black. It be me
      two-stepping in hijab and four-inch heels
      cuz dancing be in my bones
      black.
       
      My Islam be just as good as any Arab’s.
      It be me saying, No, I ain’t gonna pray
      in a separate room cuz I’m a woman
      black. And, Don’t think I can’t recite Quran too.
      Now pray on that black!
       
      My Islam be universal
      cuz black be universal.
      It be Morocco and Senegal,
      India and Egypt. My Islam
      don’t need to be Salafi
      or Sufi. It don’t have to be
      blacker than yours black.
      My Islam just has to be.

      from #45 - Fall 2014

      Aisha Sharif

      “Poetry is a vehicle that allows me to write through an understanding of God, religion, and myself; my faith is constantly explored, tested, and revised with every draft of a poem. My Muslim faith pushes me to write about being a religious minority; it has also propelled me to use poetry to break traditional stereotypes surrounding Islam and Muslim women.”

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