She floats on her raft of beds, heavy with heat, fighting sleep, the beat of the TV, waiting for the baby to start crying again, Muxsin whistling across his floppy tongue, Jamal’s wheezing chest, her mother is stroking her head, but Xoriyo will not sleep until her father comes back, the light still, not like today flapping past
Wether
Bridge
Bar
Cat
Darling
Fish
Red Lion
New Bottle
Angel Flowers
She will not sleep until her father comes back, but her mother is stroking her head.