Amina

I do not know what I'll find if I pull off your hijab Perhaps a cobra lurks to bite Whose venom will kill wit I've bared my heart into sonnets Sadly you will never read them- you aren't lettered You're rather numbered counting naira notes by the fireside where you fry awara but I know you'll listen to my eyes that tells the number of stars exploding within by this stuttering tongue and frosted sweat thawing under the radiance of your dimples. In the dark corner where the cry of almajiri crowns the night I will be waiting to elope with you arm in arm via our eyes with wings where we can stand above the earth with every altitude heavenward veiling the steeple and the minaret.