Jen Siraganian: The Sand of the Syrian Desert Apologizes to the Armenians after the Genocide

It was heat we embraced, not
your deportation, better known
as extermination. Still we held
no gentleness in our grit.

How many feet caressed us. 

We all parched for something here.

When a mother staggered, 

what could we do but shift 

grain from grain when she fell 

into golden indentation?

What did we know of people 

dispersing into air?

Each year, we sink and sink, 

but look at our gifts — 

millions of your femurs and clavicles 

rising hot to the surface.

Published in Portland Review, FALL 2024 issue

Jen Siraganian is an Armenian-American writer and former Poet Laureate of Los Gatos, California. Author of “Fracture,” she was co-winner of the New Ohio Review Poetry Prize, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and is a Lucas Artist Fellow. Her poetry has appeared in AGNI, Barrow Street, Best New Poets, Cortland Review, and Prairie Schooner. Website: jensiraganian.com

Jen Siraganian: Waiting

Standing on the Jerusalem sidewalk // my father,
raised and expelled in this city // neither Arab,
nor Jew // suggests we alternate // the last taxi
we took to dinner had yellow plates, a Jewish cab
// upon our return, we hail a taxi with green
plates, an Arab driver // the sky darkens plum //
we should be prepared to be stopped // it's our
last night // baklava's phyllo clings sweetly to
teeth // my father and the driver flutter back and
forth in Arabic // our car approaches a cluster of
lights // slows at the checkpoint // other cars
waved ahead // giddy with speed, they pass // we
are directed into a parking lot // men in
cardigans smoke, avoid eye contact with soldiers
// inside a trailer, benches and more benches //
women in headscarves, children // a black sign -
No photos allowed // my father asks how long //
the driver put up his hands // we wait, no empty
seats // sunset unnoticed, no one leaves //
cigarettes glow hot with each inhale


Published in Portland Review, FALL 2024 issue




Jen Siraganian is an Armenian-American writer and former Poet Laureate of Los Gatos, California. Author of “Fracture,” she was co-winner of the New Ohio Review Poetry Prize, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and is a Lucas Artist Fellow. Her poetry has appeared in AGNI, Barrow Street, Best New Poets, Cortland Review, and Prairie Schooner. Website: jensiraganian.com

Jen Siraganian: How To Teach Atom Egoyan’s Ararat To Twelfth Graders

Pause the film. Ask them to Google the Armenian Genocide.

Lazy but keeps my voice from quaking.

A girl in a hoodie looks up from her computer,

why weren’t we taught this in school?

Toss (underhand) key words. Denial. Forgetting. Jailed journalists.

One student asks to be excused,

half-hides his phone in his sleeve. Is he Turkish

or just rejected from Stanford?

Don’t tell them I’m Armenian. 

A colleague told me she recommended a book

about the genocide to her student. She was called

into the headmaster’s office the next day.

Turn the movie back on. 

The boy and his phone haven’t returned.

Maybe he’s texting his mom. Maybe I’ll be fired.

A moth lands on the screen. I swat it away.

Don’t nudge the girl in the hoodie when she falls asleep. 

The boy slips back in the room as a mother

is raped on a horse cart. The camera tilts down.

She is holding her daughter’s hand. 

Mention nothing about this morning, wrapping a towel around my hair, asking the shower-steamed mirror if Turks would take me.

After the credits, a girl comments,

Schindler’s List made me feel more. Another

complains, the Turks were too villainized.  

As they leave class, don’t speak of my grandmother who was raped, or what happened to her mother. Smile, the secrets lodged like seeds in teeth.

_____________

Jen Siraganian, Los Gatos Poet Laureate, has been featured in San Francisco Chronicle, the Mercury News, and NPR’s KALW. Her chapbook Fracture was released in 2014, and her writing has appeared in Best New Poets, Southwest Review, Cream City Review, Mid-American Review, and other journals and anthologies.

Reprinted from MIZNA