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The pious, hiding in the mosque,
won’t come out for the AIDS march,
say the world's a cheap trinket
and suffering's a ticket
to a better show
They want to examine
the dogma ID card
of every suppliant at the door,
run checks on the morality record
of the impoverished and the ill
In the desert, with the boy dying,
Hagar shook the angel
near to break the angel's wing:
If your God is any good,
you will help us now
No words.
Let faith act
in your hands and feet.
This matters: the firm flesh of now,
the head in the crook of the arm,
the downy notch of beauty,
this world of God. Hagar
is out at the AIDS rally.
Hagar believes.
Published in The Pakistani Journal of Women’s Studies
