Helene Pilibosian: SEASONAL DUST

Clipping spearmint and grape leaves
of a conscious green,

soil dripping from my fingers
in fingerprints,

the pith of the ritual of
Armenian women

preserving the leaves
like old customs,

the frail stems
a planthood

cast like the pattern
of puns in a letter,

washing my hands of green
and my mind of pollen,

seasonal dust
for my conscience

sup the trees
that try to sleep,

washing my eyes of summer
and wiping them

with a towel
but not apology,

pouring tea made
from such dried conversations.


This poem has appeared in the prize-winning book At Quarter Past Reality