This poem was written to commemorate the 105th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide. It was inspired by nursery rhymes being much darker in actuality than how we initially believe them to be when we are children.
I am lost in the tree
Shivering in sun
Stealing dark between branches
Praying for day to be done.
Been here days and nights,
My flight ended where no one heard.
Missing the wooly blankets of my bed
But they won’t look for a bird.
I try to close my eyes and sleep—
There, I see the Ottomans
Tall, wearing fezzes, and uniforms
Yelling into my ear’s den.
They grabbed Papa.
Their sterling silver swords aimed at his throat,
You filthy Armenian parasite!
Each of their faces, a smoky gloat.
Mama said go under the bed
And cover your ears,
As the house rocked back and forth
I silently fought my fears.
Daylight passed, I was all alone
Not seeing Mama’s feet on the floor.
I waited listening to silence, the next
morning I flew out the back door.
I was born in that house,
Played in the front yard with friends
To the smells of Mama’s kufta and dolma.
I smell them still though the memory ends.
I’m so hungry and thirsty.
Where are Mama and Papa?
Maybe I’ll catch them in my beak.
Ahead the Black Sea waves like a seesaw.
Come down little bird, the Ottomans say
You’ll give yourself a fright,
You shouldn’t be up there.
Yes, this tree’s the nest before my next flight.
Come down now,
We won’t tell you anymore.
No I won’t, as my wings shiver snowflakes
Their chocolate brown guns aim and soar.
Falling to the ground,
In the hazy air, my wings sting unable to flap.
Blood blanketing my feathers,
I lay there in an afternoon nap…
Nancy Sarafian
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