The ice hardened over the road
An elderly woman walks alone
Slowly, carefully, so as not to fall

It’s difficult to trust the ground these days

Her naked, wide hands redden from the frost
Maybe, if she grips the plastic bag filled with grape leaves tighter,
She’ll find more balance within her expansive core

She isn’t afraid of the cold
Her face may be stiff, her thin lips pursed
Under her hat, jagged hair she cut herself
Some may even mistake her for a man

But her fingers will soon be warm enough
to stuff and roll the terrible secrets that she recites in her mind at night
never spoken, only written
or eaten

After the quake, construction workers suddenly became Soviet heroes
A child’s hand lay limp from under the rubble
A missing daughter
The snow turned black
What would she think of the fallen churches and museums that have still not been rebuilt to this day?

38 years later

The ice hardened over the road
But never over her heart
She lived alone, unmarried
Տանը մնացած (tany mnacats)
Not a witch
But a witness
to grief the nation would prefer to forget
with no bystander of her own

* in Armenian: Տանը մնացած (tany mnacats) = 'remained at home'; spinster; old maid