RAMADAN KAREEM FROM THE UNITED STATES

by H.G.

Rep. Randy Fine, R-Fla., prompted calls for his resignation from Democrats and a major Islamic civil rights group after suggesting in a social media post that he'd choose dogs over Muslims. —NBC, February 17, 2026

3-4 million Muslims in the United States
begin Ramadan
On February 18th and 19th
while Randy Fine declares,

"If they force us to choose,
the choice between dogs and Muslims
is not a difficult one."

Fasting
Reflecting
Praying
Volunteering
Donating

"If they force us to choose,
the choice between dogs and Muslims
is not a difficult one."

Heads to the floor
in extra Taraweeh prayers
seeking forgiveness, answered prayers
and fostering community.

"If they force us to choose,
the choice between dogs and Muslims
is not a difficult one."

Embracing the hunger
the thirst
the fast—
the great equalizer of humankind.
Feeling the pangs of those who go without
understanding the gratitude
of this feeling being temporary
for the fortunate.

"If they force us to choose,
the choice between dogs and Muslims
is not a difficult one."

Salaam my neighbor,
peace be upon you.

 

 

 

H.G. is an American poet based in New York. She holds an MA in history and is working on her first verse novel. Her previous poetry has appeared in Blue Minaret.

DREAM

by Tricia Knoll

“Our biggest dream is to just be able to stand by the windows.” —Saleem Aburas, a relief coordinator with the Red Crescent near Al-Amal hospital in Khan Younis, quoted in “Two Hospitals in Southern Gaza Are Left Barely Functioning," The New York Times, February 19, 2024

 
To stand by a window. To see my neighbors water their geraniums 
on the stoop. To watch traffic, the old blue cars and the new cars
going off to work. The children waiting at the front doors for
a mother to walk them off to school. To watch my wife in the
garden. At night to watch moths flutter at the street lights. 
 
Of course it’s holidays with family. Feasting foods after fasts. 
The hug from my cousin who owes me money. My hug to him.
A first drink of cold water after sleep. It’s all these things,
 
plus those moths fluttering at the street lights who think
dreams come true. 

Tricia Knoll welcomes the arrival of her new book of poetry Wild Apples from Fernwood Press this week—poems that tell stories of downsizing, moving 3000 miles from Oregon to Vermont, running into Covid and welcoming two grandsons.

ON THE BUS

by Karen Greenbaum-Maya





On the long bus-ride home, spring day in SoCal, we talked about Simon and Garfunkel until news broke into the top 40 station the bus driver permitted. Dr. King was shot. He was already dead. And we all stopped because what else can you do and we all kept talking because what else can you do. No one at home said a thing, usual routine, tutoring my sister in math, the dishes, my homework. They had hated that I belonged to the Brotherhood Club. Now that too was dead. I held the cats close.

I wore my black dress. Homeroom announcements told us where the service would be if anyone wanted to skip school and go, a church on 17th and Wilshire. I thought I’d go. I thought I should. I was the only kid there from the high school, I was the only white person there, the speakers were bitter and all the words that go with bitter, and how not? I kept my head down. Even at fifteen I got that it wasn’t about me.

The next day I fasted, as on Yom Kippur because that was how you marked great sorrow and great complicity. Fasting won’t bring him back, my folks scoffed, but it was something I could do, though there was nothing I could do. And when Bobby was killed later that year I went inside a little more, a little lower but nothing more, because now this was what could happen, all the time.


Karen Greenbaum-Maya, a frequent contributor to TheNewVerse.News, feels very tired these 50 years on.