From the archives — Noir — Hala N. Alyan


She climbs
into the bed, half-

asleep, hair
glistening, heart din

furious. The clock reads
three a.m. She settles

into the fetal
position, whispering something

about a fire and an angry
man with smoke

for lips. It jars
the room, this marble

vulture that is
Miriam’s fear.

Tiny slope of shoulders. Fingers
that still curl in sleep.

She sighs, little girl. She brims with God.

by Hala N. Alyan

from Autumn Sky Poetry Number 22, July 2011

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim


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