I'm Nate Marshall and this is The Slow Down.

I grew up in a family full of sisters.

As the only brother I bore witness to so many little and big differences in how we navigated

the world in our gendered bodies.

My sisters often experience scrutiny around their clothes, behavior, hair, courtship rituals,

and so many other things that I simply never had to consider.

I remember one time riding the bus with my middle sister as young teens, seeing another

boy approach her.

Eventually, I moved from my seat across the city bus to sit next to my sister, posing as

a boyfriend, or at the very least as a boy who had some claim to her.

This seemed to be the one thing that communicated to my sisters would be suitor that his

overtures were futile.

Once we both had cell phones, our numbers were only a few digits off, and she would sometimes

give boys my number when they approached her in that same adamant way.

I took a small pleasure in those moments when some number I didn't recognize would call

and ask for her.

For me, this was an opportunity to play the tough guy.

I would cuss or threaten or simply tell them she was spoken for and to delete this number.

It made me feel good.

Maybe because I was protecting my sister or maybe because I was engaging in the Eons

old masculine tradition of posture and power.

Today's poem is a powerful elegy for a Palestinian woman who was the victim of an honor killing

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