My Armenia
I dream of you.
I dream of the day
I will hold your soil,
rub the grains,
and feel them spill
between my fingers.
I dream of the day
I will walk on your dirt,
your grass,
beneath my feet.
I touch the broken bricks
of your old churches
and feel the sharp edges scrape
against my skin.
I hear the children laugh
and I smile at how they sound like you.
I cup your bubbly water
with my hand
and bring it to my mouth,
for a sweet taste.
My Armenia, I dream of you
and when I meet you, I will dance
to the beat of your drums,
eat the flesh of your fruit.