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MEDZ MYRIG* By Anahid Abesta 1, 2, 3, Tap, tap, tap I heard your steps, in the darkness, in the yard. I hid my little body under my duvet pretending to sleep in quiet. You walked inside and lit the light, then stood patiently Called me in tender drops. I rose my head above the bed. I looked at you standing there with your tiny body and braided hair with an apron around your waist like a servant serving her head? Or like a cardinal hovering over her nest? Holding a cup and a saucer full of hot milk offering me the night's last link nurturing me like an angel Transformed to mother or matron. Is this the milk that stood with us in the evening at the doorway waiting for girls with black long dresses sweeping their feet, scarves around their heads with silver anklets around their legs running shoeless, sounding, pounding to get ahead of each other, to get there first? 1, 2, 3 Chling, chling, chling through the darkness of the alley towards our house to sell us milk calling you, Umma,* Umma? Is this the milk you waited with in the kitchen by the oven, waited for it to boil and rise then put aside for quite some time then poured a cup to served me well? I drank the milk, then went to bed. Now I look for you but never can find. Now it is my turn to nurture your nights, to serve you milk in my cup and saucer in my silver rounded tray. I have three sets of China cups, Wedgewood, Dalton and Mikasa and three trays, wooden, silver and crystal sitting still in the silence waiting for me to serve you. I am tired of longing, hoping, watching, waiting. I am tired of longing, hoping, watching, waiting for a sign I take a set of two cups placed well in a living room one cup for you one cup for me one sugar for you one sugar for me and then I wait for the sign. I don't hear you come in the room 1, 2, 3 tap, tap, tap neither do those girls' 1, 2, 3 chling, chling, chling run to us in darkened alleys. It's late evening I go to bed under my duvet. Next day I'll come and visit so to say with roses, tulips and carnations What is the number of your lot? Oh! I forget details like that. I can't reach you even now Atlantic Ocean and Alborz Mountain interfere in between us. Until we meet again __ In the sky, surrounded with angels, the moon and stars please accept __ my memories left aflame, left alive Until we meet again in the sky, I'll look at your picture in my room on the wall framed squarely in gold and glass my grandmother, angel and protector, my Medz Myrig, my Umma, my life. * Medz Myrig = In Armenian means grandmother * Umma = In Arabic means her mother -- Anahid Abesta likes to connect with her audience by writing about daily life experiences and people's feelings. She share her writings with friends and family members. She studied college English writing in Seneca College and later at TV Ontario Creative Writing course, where she started writing plays, poems and speeches, and has written a speech for a member of the Ontario provincial parliament on occasion of the celebration of 2007th anniversary of Christianity of Armenians in Toronto. Anahid's short non-fiction story called "A Day at Work" was published by Reader's Digest online.