What Does It Mean to Be a Muslim Writer?: What Does It Mean to Be a Muslim Writer?

Field Marks

Sometimes I go birding without binoculars, without lenses to augment my own.

Sometimes I go birding without binoculars, without lenses to augment my own.

Identifying a bird has to do with quick discernment of detail, often

from a distance – the jizz of it, they say.

Not relying on colour, because there is the trick of light, a bird’s years, summer and winter plumage,

male or female, or a species where there is no difference. Consider

its flight, how many wingbeats to the glide, if it flocks, seeks formations, or lives a solitary life.

Listen for its vocalizations, the trills and sharps,

but know that notes change in the face of love and fear.

I feel for the birds, who toil daily towards growth, hold faith in their bones,

calibrate a million compasses for migration, shuttle and

weave strand upon strand of nest material.

Group hysteria causes misidentification. Many birders pack prejudices

thick as shoddy field guides.

Know that a bird never strays outside its range, but outside what you perceive its range to be.

I am only myself. The birds in your head

shape every bird you see.

 

About the author

Laboni Islam was born in Canada to Bangladeshi parents.  She is a graduate of the University of Toronto School of Continuing Studies Creative Writing program, through which she received the Janice Colbert Poetry Award (2014) and Marina Nemat Award (2016).  Her poem “Lunar Landing, 1966” was shortlisted for the CBC Poetry Prize (2017).  Her poetry has been anthologized in The Unpublished City (Book*hug Press, 2017), which was curated by Dionne Brand and shortlisted for the Toronto Book Awards (2018).  She teaches at the Art Gallery of Ontario and the Aga Khan Museum, animating the gap between art and young audiences.