In old Armenian folk tales
gender was a signpost,
giants roamed the earth
stomping on vegetable gardens
and homes in villages,
feasting on the flesh of human beings.
Male giants had huge heads
and lips that touched the clouds.
Female giants had breasts so large
they could drape them
across their shoulders.
A common saying in tales
of journeys or encounters
was addressed to a woman:
“Your hair is long, but your brain is short.”
When my grandmother told me these stories,
she laughed, “The men were short,
and the women lived longer.”
She shook her head and asked,
“Who is to tell how much a life is worth?”
When we speak to the sky,
rain answers with deluge and grief.
When a woman rests her breasts
on her shoulders, she invites the orphans
of the genocide to drink,
marinating them from the inside out.
* Author’s Note: The Armenian Genocide (1915–16) a historical fact still denied by the current Turkish Government.
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Michael Minassian has just returned from a month-long residency at the Toji Cultural Foundation in Wonju, South Korea. This poem was revised and edited during that time, although the original draft was written several months ago. For more information: https://michaelminassian.com
© 2024, Michael Minassian
Halfway Down the Stairs 