A Ruined Imagination, by Michael Minassian

A Ruined Imagination
by Michael Minassian

Riding in a boat
on land is never
a good idea.

To some, water is home
to others, a place to drown,
all eyes on the horizon.

Approaching the church,
the steeple winks
its crooked bell.

Trying not to make a sound
we recite the names
of God with our tongue,

hoping to see the face
she gave us before
we were born.

Michael Minassian is a Contributing Editor for Verse-Virtual, an online poetry journal. His poetry collections Time is Not a River, Morning Calm, and A Matter of Timing as well as a new chapbook, Jack Pays a Visit, are all available on Amazon. For more information: https://michaelminassian.com

Voluptuous Innuendos, by Michael Minassian

Voluptuous Innuendos
by Michael Minassian

When I first met you
in the coffee shop
along the shore,

I felt the coast merge
with underwater reefs
until the boundaries blurred.

You were looking for a sign
and spoke in too many syllables,
as if your teeth were ice cubes
melting in a pitcher of ice tea:
click clack, clack click.

On the wall I spied notes
stapled on a bulletin board
warning of chance encounters.

Your voluptuous innuendos
never matched
my dream of you—
still you remained insistent.

Outside, on the sidewalk,
your family approached,
pressing their faces on the window,
leaving smudges like erased poems.

You asked me not to write this down
but I couldn’t help myself—
my words blurred by the glare
of the setting sun on water’s edge.

Michael Minassian’s poems and short stories have appeared recently in such journals as, Live Encounters, Lotus Eater, and Chiron Review. He is a Contributing Editor for Verse-Virtual, an online poetry journal. His chapbooks include poetry: The Arboriculturist and photography: Around the Bend. His poetry collections, Time is Not a River, Morning Calm, and A Matter of Timing are all available on Amazon. For more information: https://michaelminassian.com

Passing By Your House, by Michael Minassian

Passing By Your House
by Michael Minassian

Lately, I’ve passed by your house
although you don’t live there anymore;
the new owners never say hello
even when I wave and smile,
flicking open my umbrella
as if words were collected rain
and they would recognize me
from a distance of so many years.

The town where we grew up
looks smaller, the roads narrow
and spinning out like a spider’s tears
anchoring to the top of the hill
bordering the park near my old home,
and you, you are a bird
ambushed in my memory
unpacking your wings.

Process notes: The inspiration for this poem came to me when I used Google Maps to search for the house where I grew up in a small town in New Jersey. Everything was the same, but different.

Michael Minassian is a Contributing Editor for Verse-Virtual, an online magazine. His chapbooks include poetry: The Arboriculturist (2010) and photography: Around the Bend (2017). For more information: https://michaelminassian.com

Cross Country, by Michael Minassian

Cross Country
by Michael Minassian

The postcards arrived week after week
each one from a different state

and signed with a different name:
Ramona, Lady Jane, Angel, Miranda;

all of them written in your lazy scrawl
leaning to the right like trees in the wind

two burning eyes drawn above
my name written in red ink.

Later one night, I hear a noise
outside my window

as if someone rearranged
the furniture of the wind;

perhaps it is you
sharpening your dreams

or the ghost of lost words
preparing for your return.

Process notes: The poem was inspired by a series of anonymous letters I received after graduating college many years ago.

Michael Minassian is a Contributing Editor for Verse-Virtual, an online magazine. His chapbooks include poetry: The Arboriculturist (2010) and photography: Around the Bend (2017). For more information: https://michaelminassian.com