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The Literary Groong - 07/13/2013

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	By Ani Boghossian

	My grandfather turns quiet when hearing about death
	The inexplicable
	Dragging its cloak across our ancient rug
	Distracting dust and careless things
	The mundane work
	The house,
	The family,
	The television news,
	Our garden, his trees
	And people
	Who pass away at noon.
	My grandfather is watering the quince tree
	And salt has dried the crust of stranger things
	Harsher still the sky is getting blue
	A bruise on the skin of God
	We penetrate the window, watching our granddad
	Pulling out the weeds with his perceptive hands
	Afraid to spill the soil
	Devouring the light, his silver hair
	Disquieting the things that are to come.
	I call his name
	He nods
	And things are silent once again.

 2013 Ani Boghossian

Ani Boghossian was born in Echmiadzin back in cold, dark 1989. She
still lives in Echmiadzin, yet went to school in Yerevan ("Aghasi
Ayvazyan" Varjaran). She studied International Relations at Yerevan
State University and currently works at the Armenian Assembly of
America and also at the Foundation of Preservation of Wildlife and
Cultural Assets. Ani translated David Phillips' book "Unsilencing the
Past" into Armenian. She maintains a blog:
She writes in English and in Armenian and draws and paints as well.

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