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EARTHQUAKE MONUMENT By Helene Pilibosian They ask me to be involved. I send 50 blankets, 100 bars of unscented soap and 1000 pencils for schoolchildren. I can't send my shock. They ask me to shed tears. My river overflows. My dry eyes sigh. My morning juice sours. I see double sometimes. They ask me to spread the word. I type too fast. My images are pasted on the past. My daily trek is vexed. Memory still consults my mind. They want a monument. Spitak and Leninakan are still floss on the mill of no response. I hew names on the marble of thoughts. This is too heavy to send. They wish remembrance. I name my poems for them. I light 50,000 beeswax candles in the church of national history. My ideas are edged with commemoration. They say I should listen. The announcer of 1988 gave the news loud enough for a century of survivors and sympathizers. I heard and continue to understand. -- Helene Pilibosian is the author of two volumes of poetry: Carvings from an Heirloom: Oral History Poems and At Quarter Past Reality: New and Selected Poems, the latter a Writer's Digest prizewinner. She is head of Ohan Press, which has a bilingual web site at http://home.comcast.net/~hsarkiss. Her poems have been published in many literary journals, sometimes winning prizes.