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

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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