A voice smooth and uncoiling singing to Abdulhalim, crackling when it tried to get the high notes. Like wood in a fireplace lit on a silvery blue snowy evening on the only day of the year that the country snowed. Singing waves of crumbling notes, soothing songs of white joyful lies. Songs of motherhood. Like brown bubbles on khubuz, her love crackled in a heart that adored too hard people it cannot possibly confine in one place. The more she yearned to gather us all, the more she burned her liberated self, longing to keep us warm within her reach.
Beisan A. Alshafei
October 9th, 2022
Beisan's Burble 