Memory Boxes

Today Pegman took us to Armenia. I got lost in the beautiful photographs of the country then absorbed by the sad history.

You assumed I died in the Sheykhalan fire.
No.
I am still here.
And so are you for I recorded your stories
of hatred and stored them in my memory boxes,
each marked with a name.

Aslan (Lion): Broke into our home to slit the throats of our men.
Erol (Courage): Coward. Stuck my father’s head on a spike beside our kitchen door.
Tutku (Desire): Raped my mother and me then forced us to walk naked under the Mesopotamian sun.
Haluk (Happy): When we cried out for water, you gave us vinegar instead.

I stored thousands of your hate-stories but now, for balance, I must pull out a few of our own.

Aeron: Danced across the sand in silvery moonlight until we clapped and began to sing.
Havik: Sheltered the smallest of us within his enormous, naked shadow.
Poghos: Threw me out the window and saved me from the flames.