Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Poems

MERSIN, TURKEY The streets become alleys, then tangle before Ali’s Patisserie where a toddler holds a pretzel and a crayon: one to go in, one to go out to the world: her vision of this place where she was born: her aunts bickering, her father reaching for a pack of Samsun cigarettes. She sees the boys on their bikes, the girls checking their mascara in the mirrors of parked cars, and in 99 ways she will be them— once the crayon drawings go, and the stubs of her crayons. But there’ll always be pretzels, and the kitchen balcony where she can watch the birds, though they’re not the birds in her books, or that float through her dreams. They are hard and gray and silent, exploring the city’s detritus slowly, hoping some treasure waits, or some catastrophe.

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