His Fasting Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

His fasting

Lost among the stacks of wheat
Golden and dry, head to roots
With a kerchief on his face
Daddy held sharp sickle
While squatting small
He moved forward
Chicken walked
Went forward
Harvesting
The wheat.

Dad was in a wheat ripening hot summer
He was fasting according to his faith
And dust, his fasting could break
Fasting meant sharing saving
With the poor, and needy
Not relaxing; laziness.

Proudly I, declare:
“I am a Muslim”
If that is Islam.
My father’s.
But am I?
Can I?