“Like the nightingale, I warbled round my rose with wings displayed.” Five hands more will make this carpet done, this carpet for my dowry, with colors from my heart, though our fathers haven’t spoken not with the war, not with Vahan almost old enough to serve. Misak, too, who was foolish enough to cheer when the law was changed so Armenians could serve in the Ottoman army. Inside the pattern of diamonds and leaves, I’ve knotted birds into full fearless flight. Others perch on branches, feet clasping tight. One lies still, in her neat rush nest, three blue eggs below her warm body. She’s plump, this bird, like Anahid, with a calm and glowing full-moon face. I made her here, smiling with me, not scared of those who’d turn on her because she’s one of us. For now she must be nothing but the good pregnant wife of a Kurdish soldier. I start a new bird who dreams as he sleeps. He lies on his side, eyes closed, his red chest tucked between a blanket of wings, his beak tilted up.
What do You think about Like Water On Stone (2014)?
