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40 a call to Irbid the Jewish family from whom I rent sleeps behind these walls but I shout 8,000 miles in Arabic anyway and Amal shouts back several good mornings though it is midnight where I live we race each other to spill news of the past months: work, school, American politics my publications, impending visits ten minutes finishes quickly my room regains its midnight silence her news told me an aunt in Tabariya is dead, sending her father across borders of routine cavity searches, to his home he’s allowed to visit once a year if lucky two months have passed without any news of his return as if he were in America, and I were across the river visiting relatives ...

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