ARMENIAN POETRY PROJECT

I am a mutant who inherited a predisposition for casual lying.   My father was an escape artist who could vanish into Oriental carpets.   My...

Driving through the gates Of this sleeping place, We pass potter’s field and turn up the hill Dotted with flat, tipped stones Toward the Arm...

We gather around the gash in the earth Called Dudan/Duda/Yudan Dere To commune with the dead Through time and space By measuring depth with ...

Half-awake in my mother’s arms In a car where it was cool and it was dark. My mother opened her coat and covered me As my father drove home ...