I always kept my knees together, even when I washed myself.
I know the story of Mary. The miracle conception.

Maybe I would walk too many times on the rusty railing out back
like a gymnast, like I was told not to.

My aunts said girls who weren’t cut had dirty shames,
could get pregnant just like that, henna fingers snap.

Niece, they’d say, kohl eyes kind, don’t run so fast don’t walk too far.
Don’t play outside after sunset.
There are bad men in the bushes. Only jinns go out when it’s dark.