Even if she has to go to every single mosque
in town.
Dropping off her laundry in northeast
to pray
at Dar Faruq
Where the mosque is in renovation
Saw dust shows up on her feet
She walks slowly to the closet sized back room
To pray
Opening a plywood door
careful to not get cut from a wood chip.
On sunday nights, she'll show up
even though
most prayer goers leave excuses
not praying, because their work schedule.
She'll show up to Masjid De Norde
The one with french doors, that open to desolate rooms
Except for a red dramatic carpet.
And an older women whose been sitting there a while
gives Tasbeeh
And says prayers with her silver tinned lunch box
getting cold, waiting for the time
when dawn comes
to open her fast
She'll show up to mosques
with women sectionals
that are so overly crowded and loud
that the women try to speak in soft whispers
but the children over power them
Their will to move and prance about
is eager shame
to parents who wrestle
to sit them down
Pushing their all too mature scarves and telling them
they'll go home soon
to sleep.