"Untitled" by Bariaa Sanioura
History gallops over the margins of your page, what’s a story, but its plural all over the world? Arabic lulls ageless in your ears, but to you what most matters is temporal in this world.
The Sheikh with a gold pen in his pocket, the girl lathering her father’s head with musk,and you—pearling over Whitman’s poems—all have a lover’s quarrel with the world. A riddle of childhood loss soaks the rearview mirror in an Arizona desert,and you drive past the unsaid but ignite nothing immoral in this world. When you put your head down to
