by Lara Atallah

It can be like that sometimes. Summer brings rain and I wear
its storms like a wedding dress. It's dark in Beirut. The city's streets
are crowded like a funeral procession but the dead were never buried. 
I keep myself asleep. Last night, I dreamt I was bleeding and you
rubbed my body with salt scraped off the surface of Venus. I began
shimmering while you said: See? All better now. I scatter the rest in
the Mediterranean, watch as the shoreline recedes taking with it the 
things we love. See? All better now. All we had to do was give our salt
back to the water. 

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Lara Atallah is a New York-based artist and writer. Her practice is informed by her interest in the political nature of landscape, and the power it holds to reshape our perception of borders. Her work has been exhibited in the US and internationally, and is part of the Onassis Cultural Foundation’s collection in Athens, as well as the NYU Langone Art Collection. Recent exhibitions include the American University Museum, Trestle Gallery, ON CANAL. Her first book, Edge of Elysium, Vol.1 was published by Open Projects Press in September 2019. Her writing has appeared in Artforum, Camera Austria, Flash Art Italia, and The Brooklyn Rail among others.

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