During the 1915 Armenian Genocide, the inhabitants of the six villages of Musa Dagh came together and staged a resistance. They held off Ottoman forces for 53 days, then were taken by the French to a refugee camp in Egypt. They returned home after World War One, but it was a tenuous homecoming. In 1939, when the French left the region, most of the Armenians of Musa Dagh fled, re-establishing themselves in Anjar, Lebanon. One of the six villages, Vakf (Vakıflı), is now considered Turkey’s “last Armenian village.” The other five villages, including my grandfather’s hometown, Yogun Oluk, have since been inhabited by Turks. The region was devastated by a massive earthquake in 2023, and little of its built heritage remains.

i. Vakf

The sign beckons me, in three
languages, to walk softly
on these cobbled streets.
_______You’ve crossed
a threshold. Stay
__________a while.
I pluck oranges from lush,
bent trees, and from the lips
of everyone I meet:
_____________Imagine
where we would be now, if only
__they had stayed.

__________________________________________ii. Khedr Beg

__________________________________________Nene told us there used to be
__________________________________________two cafes, a barber shop
__________________________________________and a fruit stand under the shade
__________________________________________of this ancient willow tree.
__________________________________________Now there’s a bustling market.

__________________________________________My son wades through the river,
__________________________________________lemon dondurma dripping
__________________________________________from his chin, past families seated
__________________________________________at half-submerged picnic tables.

__________________________________________Pant legs rolled, they eat kebabs.
__________________________________________Water flows over their bare feet.

iii. Yogun Oluk

The second time I visit the house our house this our home
their home where they welcome me home, there is nowhere
to welcome me to. I search the empty sky for the overhang
of twigs my great-grandfather laid. Map my steps to where,
eight years ago, I took in my ancestral view. A boy emerges
from a tent, toothy smile, averts his eyes.

_________The earth keeps cracking
_________beneath our feet. I search his face
_________like it’s a landmark.

______________________________iv. Haji Habibli

______________________________I only know it as a driving through,
______________________________a vista. But I know enough to notice

______________________________the second time around, that all that remain
______________________________are the summer homes on the hill. The earthquake

______________________________has turned the old stone homes – and the vestige
______________________________of roots and a century of truth – to rubble.

v. Bitias

The cathedral still stands, not destroyed
but incomplete. Gaping hole
where the steeple should be.

___________________I picture the mass
___before the mass exodus – an opening
___and closing at once.

Now couples come from nearby villages
and use it as a backdrop
for wedding photos.

_____________How the dust

___dances in the light…

__________________________________________vi. Kabbusieh

__________________________________________Hayrig told me it had been
__________________________________________the rich people’s village,
__________________________________________closest to the sea.
__________________________________________I cast handfuls of salt
__________________________________________on his scorn. I dreamt
__________________________________________of building a house
__________________________________________on the beach, set out
__________________________________________to find the perfect spot –
__________________________________________I will know it in my bones.

__________________________________________And the views were sublime,
__________________________________________but for miles there was only
__________________________________________a precipice –

ddd______________________________________