“i heard,” she mumbles, teeth gnashing into keratin “that our fingers are carrots” and blood wells from juicy cuticles, rosy in summertime bloom "and our teeth are just cutting boards,” she laughs into her strawberry-stained fingertips, some inside joke between battlefield hands and shaking smiles
"we could bite our own fingers off, did you know?” and i can imagine rose quartz knuckles, gleaming "if we didn’t remember— well, you know.”
The hijab is not the most important part of being a Muslim woman, but it is certainly the most visible. In a time when Islamophobia only seems to be on the rise in the West, a practice that is so personal and diverse has become a warped and misunderstood part of a flat and monolithic picture of Muslim women.
