For Hera, For Baba
The child falls asleep
to the sound of the news
in Arabic
in Aramaic.
Prime minister decided to
fuck
on your deathbed.
The child sleeps
but the reporter’s voice
is a lullaby
a lullaby
to get the night
going
flowing
river
clean.
The child sleeps as
Marcel Ghanem’s voice
calms
the vibrating nerves
trees in the wood have been calling my name, Mother
whispering
that soon, I will be a bride.
I wore my white dress, Mother,
and the child is still sleeping
the television
is a box
full of colorful
dreams
faraway lands
and unicorns.
Men in suits and brands
beautiful ties
ties me, chokes me, Mother,
I walked in the narrow streets
and the sun
could not wash
the dirty hands.
Aya Cheaito
Aya Cheaito recently graduated from New York University with a double major in Neuroscience and Psychology. She wrote her honors thesis at NYU in the Social Psychology Department, specializing in interracial interactions and interpersonal relationships, and also taught psychology at NYU as a teaching assistant. Her writings explore the ideas of the self and otherness, as well as the relationship between historical traumas and the body.
