Taliban Girl

Taliban Girl appeared in the winer issue of After-Thought Literary Journal.

In memory of Ugandan marathon runner Rebecca Cheptegei and of the unnamed junior doctor at RG Kar Medical College; in honor of survivor Gisèle Pelicot; and for all silenced and abused women everywhere.

Yesterday, she lost her voice (it had long
been quieted, but they made it official:
women cannot sing in the streets, in public,
anywhere under the male gaze) because

they are too beautiful too unattainable too
talented too skilled we must reduce them
to their bodies so our lust is their fault.

She nurtures her voice now in secret, singing
alone the words to an ancient song, one known
only to the bright finches in cages at the market.
The best hijab, men say, is to never leave the home:

that alone protects–

protects from those same men. She had a friend,
once; they sang together in the courtyards of
their homes. Her friend has disappeared, and men
are angry when asked about her.

(Erased. As if she had never lived. Never
walked these streets, never read these books,
never had a preference or a thought or a need.)

And in a French village a husband drugs his wife
so 72 of his closest friends can rape her. In
an online forum a photograph is posted with
this comment, she looks like she could take
a beating. In Uganda an Olympic athlete is
doused with petrol and set alight by her
boyfriend. In India on a lonely nightshift
a young doctor is raped and killed. And in
the Congo over one thousand women
are raped every day.

We know the stories.
And we know the truth:

in this world, we are all Taliban girls.