April 22nd, 2012
by Mariam Matossian
Your dancing brown eyes,
have grown dim
your once swollen cheeks
Your parched lips,
with tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth,
try to utter a word:
Cries of anguish deafen you
Where is the music of your childhood that
marked your days and nights?
The hypnotic rhythms of the dumbek,
That provided the soundscape for your blissful youth?
You take a step
dragging your dirt covered blistered bruised feet
across the desert
you remember the taste of figs, the juice of pomegranate dripping down your
Your protruding belly once filled
You close your once dancing brown eyes,
long dark lashes heavy with dust and tears and sweat, meet.
Your close your five year old eyes
And remember what was.
By Mariam Matossian "for my grandmother, upon reflecting on her journey during 1915"