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The Literary Groong - 06/19/2010

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	MATRYOSHKA

	by Angela Keshishian


	I've come to hold sadness in my hands
	To walk a thousand miles in the hottest desert.
	Drink not water.
	My feet swollen and bruised. Bloody.

	I've come to see the face of great-grandmother.
	We have the same dark eyes.
	We have the same scraped soul.
	We bear the same name.
	There is no escaping.

	She's in me. She's in me.

	In my last moments of life, I want to release the sadness.
	I want to let it drop from my old, wrinkled, Armenian hands into the Euphrates River
	To hear it drown away with the thousand, thousand lives
	Some young. Some old.
	All tortured.

	I want a drop of sadness from my hands a crystal challis
	That will shatter into a million pieces
	Each one scattered. Pieces of a Nation whole.

	She calls for me. Her breath in me.
	She's in me. She's in me.


--
Angela Keshishyan was born in Yerevan, Armenia and raised in
California.  She is currently working on her M.A. in Literature.

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