On our last night together, 
the night of loose ends and too much wine, 
we find them in the backyard under a sickle moon. 

Could there be a tamer way to say goodbye, 
to ease into the failure of marriage 
the way a ring eases onto a finger, 
the way your fingers once eased into me? 

Their hooves leave half-moon grooves 
on damp earth. We approach, nervous at first, 
whisper to them as if they’re newborns. 

They have escaped their paddocks, 
have stumbled through the soft mouth of fog 
as harbingers of something not quite holy, 
something hungrier and more lost than anything else. 

Arminé Iknadossian

was born in Beirut, Lebanon, and her family sought political asylum in the United States in 1978 to escape the civil war. Her debut poetry collection, All That Wasted Fruit (Main Street Rag Press), is a meditation on the sacred feminine. Arminé earned an MFA from Antioch University and has been awarded fellowships from Summer Poetry in Idyllwild and The Los Angeles Writing Project. A founding fellow of Anaphora Writing Residency at Otis College of Art and Design, Arminé teaches for The Poetry Salon and runs her own workshops and retreats.

Find out more at: armineiknadossian.com