For Hera, For Baba The child falls asleepto the sound of the newsin Arabicin Aramaic.Prime minister decided tofuckon your deathbed. The child sleepsbut the reporter’s voiceis a lullabya lullabyto get the nightgoingflowingriverclean. The child sleeps asMarcel Ghanem’s voicecalmsthe vibrating nervestrees in the wood have been calling my name, Motherwhisperingthat soon, I will be a bride. I wore my white dress, Mother,and the child is still sleepingthe televisionis a boxfull of colorfuldreamsfaraway landsand unicorns. Men in suits and brandsbeautiful tiesties me, chokes me, Mother, I walked in the narrow streetsand the suncould not washthe dirty hands.