Siesta

Auntie lies in a porcelain box. Her black hair ripples at the surface. Her husband works at the blood caked around her ears. He hears the Muezzin's call to prayer. She hears nothing at all.

Grandmother's wide hips sit atop cool sheets. She peels her white hijab from her her head. Droplets of perspiration cling piously to her forehead. She kneels down to roll her prayer rug and pushes it under the boxy bed frame. She is thirsty for a Marlboro and a Nescafé.

Baby girl with soft brown curls bounces inside her collapsible box. Ten tiny toes the size of un-soaked garbanzo beans stick to the warm plastic. She waits for her dead mother to bring a bottle of warm milk.