She hit my car, then hugged me—
her hijab engulfed me like an apparition.
What momentum gathered between our thermoplastic?
She hit my car, then hugged me—
laughter lurched from the open window. “Sister,” we cried,
cracking together in spontaneous arm expansion,
an unmapped greeting, reverse engineered—
her hijab engulfed me like an apparition.
—This poem is a triolet variation.
has a love of corn fields, rivers, trains, and funk. Her poems have appeared in Crowstep Poetry Journal; The Ekphrastic Review; Eunoia Review; Seasons: Poems from the Southwest Journal Poetry Project (Trolley Car Press, 2010); Silver Birch Press; Tiny Seed Literary Journal; Topical Poetry; and Trouvaille Review, among others. She lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota with her husband and dog.
