How I Washed My Heart
by Amirah Al Wassif
My spine is made of steel
so, I can't fold my arms around my body to pray.
All I can do is open my heart to the rain coming from a nearby cloud that hovered softly in the air like a holy verse on an innocent child's lips.
My mother taught us that painting our hands and feet with henna brought more blessings to the body and the soul.
We believe that putting our limbs in henna will heal our diseases and end our sufferings. I asked my sisters to paint my spine with henna.
Then, it would be colorful and not steel anymore.
I read once,
"Wash your heart before your face."
I felt confused, and wondered,
how?
When I was younger, I had a normal spine not one made of steel. I’d wash my limbs and face five times a day to prepare myself for prayer with my father, mother, and siblings on the roof of our wooden house.
I used to wash my body only, but I never figured out how to wash my heart.
Once, I was playing hide and seek with my brother and I tried my best to go up the roof where the haystacks gathered.
I found the greatest spiritual waterfall ever: it covered my heart with belief and pureness.
I fell down when I tried to hide from my brother
I learned how the hand of Allah washes our hearts through troubles and crises
and how it picks us up sweetly to keep us safe from daily dangerous flights.
Amirah Al Wassif’s poems have appeared in several print and online publications including South Florida Poetry, Birmingham Arts Journal, Hawaii Review, The Meniscus, The Chiron Review, The Hunger, Writers Resist, Right Now, and others. Amirah also has a poetry collection, For Those Who Don’t Know Chocolate (Poetic Justice Books & Arts, 2019), and a children’s book, The Cocoa Boy and Other Stories published in February 2020.
by Amirah Al Wassif
My spine is made of steel
so, I can't fold my arms around my body to pray.
All I can do is open my heart to the rain coming from a nearby cloud that hovered softly in the air like a holy verse on an innocent child's lips.
My mother taught us that painting our hands and feet with henna brought more blessings to the body and the soul.
We believe that putting our limbs in henna will heal our diseases and end our sufferings. I asked my sisters to paint my spine with henna.
Then, it would be colorful and not steel anymore.
I read once,
"Wash your heart before your face."
I felt confused, and wondered,
how?
When I was younger, I had a normal spine not one made of steel. I’d wash my limbs and face five times a day to prepare myself for prayer with my father, mother, and siblings on the roof of our wooden house.
I used to wash my body only, but I never figured out how to wash my heart.
Once, I was playing hide and seek with my brother and I tried my best to go up the roof where the haystacks gathered.
I found the greatest spiritual waterfall ever: it covered my heart with belief and pureness.
I fell down when I tried to hide from my brother
I learned how the hand of Allah washes our hearts through troubles and crises
and how it picks us up sweetly to keep us safe from daily dangerous flights.
Amirah Al Wassif’s poems have appeared in several print and online publications including South Florida Poetry, Birmingham Arts Journal, Hawaii Review, The Meniscus, The Chiron Review, The Hunger, Writers Resist, Right Now, and others. Amirah also has a poetry collection, For Those Who Don’t Know Chocolate (Poetic Justice Books & Arts, 2019), and a children’s book, The Cocoa Boy and Other Stories published in February 2020.