My name is Shifa,
spelled S-h-i-f-a,
for most of my life pronounced shee-fa,
sometimes said Shiff-a,
but really in Arabic it’s she-faa’ with an emphasis
at the end
like a silent t,
although usually I just stay quiet
and nod
however it’s said,
because for some reason,
my ears have gotten used to hearing it wrong,
and although my brain protests,
my tongue seems to not have yet
caught up
and it doesn’t always seem to be brave.

No, not She-fat,
I was called that
thank you very much,
I’m not nine anymore,
I’m old enough to not want to say my age,
although my tongue seems to not have yet
grown up,
and caught up to my brain,
and it doesn’t always seem to be brave.

My name comes from
Arabic, means cure,
the name of a teacher, doctor, business woman,
female icon during the Prophet’s time,
and yes, I am very proud of
my history,
and no,
Muslim women back then
weren’t oppressed,
and can we talk about
our names
without having to give
a history lesson,
without having to make disclaimers,
without having to explain,
and can I tell that to my own tongue,
because it seems to not have yet
caught up to my brain,
and it doesn’t always seem to be brave.

My name is Shifa,
splashed across my books,
a reminder of who I am, where I came from,
deep pride in my every pore
at being Syrian American, being Muslim, being me,
yet sometimes I just want to write a book about football,
or a holiday Eid gift,
or my love for bananas,
without having to
stand out,
and yet I want to stand out,
I mean how else will I teach my own tongue,
because it seems to not have yet
caught up to my brain,
and it doesn’t always seem to be brave.

My name is Shifa,
words are where I’m most comfortable,
stories are where my heart resides,
writing is my safe haven,
because when I pick up my pen,
click on my keyboard,
let my fingers fly,
I can silence the buzzing thoughts around me,
and just
be.

I don’t have to force my tongue
to be brave,
because my hands type my words,
and my fingers
were never forced to feel fear.

My name is Shifa,
my tongue may not yet be coated in courage
like my mind wants it to be,
but my fingers are fearless,
braver than my brain,
and the pages of my books
are filled with pieces of myself
that I had
hid
away in boxes
before.

My name is Shifa,
my fingers are fearless,
and for now,
that is
enough.

From the March/April 2025 issue of The Horn Book Magazine.

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