Chador

I walk to Memphis or Portland—
anywhere—but here, inventing
new moves under my dress.

The body language of guilt resonates
where the usable truth sways, spins towards
its brightness, sorrowing.

I step outside to get away
from the cravenness, the shame,
but that was in a dream sweat.

The only thing I fear is walking.
Beneath my shoes lies the foundation
of a transposing continent, above my hijab,

particles of a trillion decaying stars. In actuality,
I myself suspend in devastation.
Eighty-eight pilgrims enter the dark,
and for this moment only, I am the light.

When Ilari isn't writing poetry or short stories, she recites Ayahs (verses) from the Noble Quran and enjoys traveling with her family. A four-time Best of the Net nominee and other accolades, her Greatest Hits appear or forthcoming in BULL, South Dakota Review, Writer's Digest, SWWIM Every Day, Pithead Chapel, Free State Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Indianapolis Review, Paterson Literary Review, and others.