These streets are littered with little girls who carry
Asmahan’s eyes in their faces. This one has a voice
like feathers. She tells me the coffee shop owner allows her
to sell roses here every other day. I go to school
in the morning. My father takes me
from coffee shop to coffee shop at night. He’s waiting
for me outside. She says she’s memorized
Asmahan’s songs. Do you want to listen?
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