Free Like Water on Stone by Dana Walrath

grass and flowers
    are sweeter but cannot fill us.
    The seams are empty like our stomachs.
    Water from cold springs hits our insides.
    Filling bellies with worms and bugs
    empties our other parts.
    I fill us with a story.
    The first mother gave birth to the earth.
    Like all good mothers,
    she fed it with milk so it could grow.
    In the sky you see her milk
    flowing in a circle
    around the earth.
    When God saw how the earth had grown
    so beautiful,
    he filled it with his children.
    He made Eve from Adam’s rib.
    Eve fed her children with milk
    like the first mother
    who gave birth to the earth.
    Look at the sky.
    You can always feel full
    from drinking in Dzir Gatin ,
    the Milky Way.
    DAY 36
    Mariam
    Ma:
    Swan down, wave,
    curve, curve, half curve.
    Swan down, wave,
    curve, curve, half curve.
    Ma
    Ma
    Mama
    Ma
    Ma
    Mama
    Cold
    Hungry
    Mama
    DAY 37
    BORIK MOUNTAIN
    Shahen
    Mountain snows
    melt with summer sunshine.
    Streams rush.
    Flowers bloom.
    But this high up
    it’s still too early
    for ripe fruits.
    This wide stream glistens
    from early moonbeams.
    A voice inside it says
    find water,
    follow it to people.
    We find a place
    in the woods
    for the girls to wait
    one night,
    one full day,
    one half night.
    I follow the stream.
    I promise to return with food.
    I tell them,
    “Leave
    if I’m not back
    by tomorrow night.
    Leave
    when the moon is high.”
    Sosi’s brows knit
    like thick black wool.
    Like a burr from a field,
    Mariam grabs my skirt.
    She won’t let go.
    I pull apart her fingers.
    “I will come back.
    But if soldiers find me
    you must leave
    before they find you too.”
    The mounds by the river
    rise here by this stream.
    Sosi sees them too,
    I know.
    I tell her,
    “Go south.
    Use the stars.
    Stay high
    till you see the desert
    from the ridge.”
    Sosi’s sharp bones
    cut into me as we hug. She says,
    “You’ll find us in Aleppo
    with Mama and Papa,
    Kevorg,
    Misak,
    and Anahid.
    Together we’ll go home.”
    I nod.
    She lets me go.
    Sosi
    The red cloud of wool
    so soft and so fine
    is ready to spin.
    I pull a tiny pinch
    between the tip of my thumb
    and finger.
    I rub it back and forth
    between finger bones,
    pulling as I rub.
    Pull it out bit by bit,
    rub it back and forth.
    The red cloud becomes
    a long red thread.
    I can make it back
    into a bird
    again.
    I must.
    Mariam
    Shahen.
    Wave,
    curve to the side.
    Shahen.
    DAY 38
    Shahen
    I follow the stream for hours
    to some houses on its bank,
    houses pink with dawn,
    filled with other people and their food.
    I retie my head scarf.
    I watch from behind the trees
    while women and girls
    help men and boys
    get ready to leave with the sheep.
    I choose the one who smiled
    as she gave her boy food.
    I ask her,
    not right away,
    while the morning chatter continues,
    Kurdish and Turkish mixed together,
    but after,
    when the women
    go back to their houses.
    I smooth my skirt.
    I open her door,
    Mama’s coin in my open palm.
    “Please, mother.
    Do you have food for me and my sisters?
    Our village was burned.
    Our parents killed.
    Please, mother?”
    She closes my hand around the coin and answers,
    “Come.”
    She pulls me inside
    onto the warm soft carpet.
    Colors rise through the soles of my feet.
    Cinnamon surrounds me.
    My mouth fills with wet.
    She cuts a slab of cheese,
    bread and olives,
    hot tea
    for me.
    “Eat slowly, so it
    stays down,” she tells me.
    Warmth flows
    from my throat
    to my toes
    to my crown
    to the tips of my fingers
    with each swallow.
    My belly’s full so fast.
    The bread and cheese
    sit before me.
    Inside a cloth she wraps
    basturma
    bastegh
    cheese
    halva
    nuts
    foods
    rich
    dense and dry.
    They will take us
    over mountains.
    She asks no questions.
    She wraps and ties the cloth
    tight and secure like a swaddled child.
    She folds the cheese inside the bread.
    I put it in my pocket. Our eyes meet.
    She sees through my dress and scarf to me.
    She places one hand on the side of my head.
    A kerchief cannot hide a mother’s touch. She