Autumn Sky Poetry . . . Number 22 . . .


     by 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.


Hala N. Alyan has lived in various parts of the Middle East and the United States. Currently, she resides in Brooklyn, where she is pursuing a doctoral degree.


© 2011 Hala N. Alyan