The Darkest Shade of Gray by Silva Zanoyan Merjanian

Silva Zanoyan Merjanian is a widely published poet of Armenian descent who grew up in Beirut, Lebanon. Her work is featured in international anthologies and poetry journals. Merjanian has two volumes of poetry, Uncoil a Night (2013) and Rumor (Cold River Press, 2015.) Rumor won the Pinnacle Book Achievement Award Fall 2015 for best poetry book by NABE, she has 3 poems from Rumor nominated for Pushcart Prize. Merjanian donates proceeds from both books to charitable organizations.

The Darkest Shade of Gray

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air - Sylvia Plath There’s a flame sliding over the rain flickering your image in the corner shadows like a struggling wick I rise from it marcescent twig of an old willow branch my tongue extends to viscid residue of your voice thickening the air only to trace shriveling edge of time where I’m the lie we shared

I disown my breath burn in the distance to your poems as dusk fades into night I fade in your absence you will never have my death but a pile of ash in mouths of men

Judgement

To Paris Dedicated to child brides invisible in large cities

In the distance she’s that dim light spilling from a window into the night hair doused in city smell that of empty streets past her bedtime illusion of intimacy of street lamps lies the dark squeezes from her eyes hold that breath, there’s no room to exhale in this cage

your chest rises with a breeze licks the stale moonlight on her hands up to a ballooned promise back to storm-drains looking for change and up again asphalt reaches concrete stone touches glass eyes wide open you look past her into a dream hold that river, the Seine knows nothing about old men

rasp of odds is in her favor at this hour that she breaks out of this shell unharmed before gilt on windows blind her to your stone façade and she lays her faith inside your mouth bartering prayers for mistakes she sanctifies hold that dot spreading red on an awning

she’s caught the rain pelting her voice on your pavements with indifference yet she fails to see she too is a willing prey to your streets lit in the gentlest light

hold that hope, it’s a stray dog looking for a bone

a shadow beyond distorted street signs she is jealous of your sunset sinking into dusk how it molts its heart beyond venal rooftops while she takes hers into this wounded night hold that sky pressing on her like rubble of a man

Falling Into Dusk

For the Trafficked I’ve been sinking in this brittle light since I was twelve you, floating in my dead eyes like an ellipsis on power lines we both vanish without closure purging God’s shame on silhouette of broken men in rooms sunken with weight of prey I’ve seen rivers slice cities in your soft glow drown a pale moon in murky currents denial a birthmark on its brow misplaced conscience pace in awning shadows judging the sky in squint of eyes bloodshot with spite hush money graffiti on coffins in plain sight they know me the way they know the traffic light on McArthur first rain of fall on their windshield the sign OPEN on bakeries they frequent rushing to work they know my face some know my name familiarity’s a cannibal tied to bed posts you too should know your tongue holds scars of its bite

Are we too far gone to cover corpse of another sun have we forgotten where we left dirge and flowers in hours counted not accounted slipping through palms I wash my words in holy water bought from a street vendor and a truce you made with the righteous who bargained redemption from the same vendor on the same corner hangs from my neck and fills my pockets with stones trees wipe your drool off another approaching night it will carry you again over the threshold like a bride veil caught on pander while I search for the bottom where it’s pitch dark to bury my body whore carved on my inner thigh

A Thousand Layers Under an Immigrants Skin

I was younger than a dream when summer stretched on its side heavy with sweet taste of plums it swayed our dreams to lethargy it sweat in trees with polished roots while we wasted away feasting on raw gratitude

nostalgic for days we all killed something to escape wore our bones like prison bars of heritage

I was older than my skin when mosquitos carried a drop of blood drawn from mere blink of an eye stained the shade my words cast on open palms streets sizzled in the sun dried every shard of regret on steps of every cathedral women do not cry from their eyes they give birth to tears in clenched fists then leave them like used prayers on old pews

I held all blame in my mouth who wouldn’t hide rot of yesterday’s appetite yet can you forget humidity of our lies our tongues still search for their taste it sweetened our stagnant breath

nostalgic for days we all killed something to escape

summer shifted its weight on fall’s rain we changed our skin put on a new pair of jeans a white shirt outgrew our names we’ll be laid down a hue of decent in our graves our smiles bleached our shadows still a deep grey

© Silva Zanoyan Merjanian/liveencounters.net