TE16 Turkish Delight

Jürek and Qan over stomach, ears down, nose still, chasing neither a sound nor a sight. I’m under strong lights. Boneless. Landless. They wanted me to choose a birth place, I went to school at first, and denied my name when I first heard it. Then I wanted my father, and I couldn’t return after I ran once across those lands. I’m trying to explain all this, while I long for a language I don’t know how to speak. I want to crash and bend every syllable, every word that come out of the roof of my mouth. It’s the third time I repeat my name. The one you gave me. My dark skinned mother. The first one. She doesn’t care. She calls me another name anyway. It’s like Russian. Who knows where she loved it, touched or wanted to touch it, and fell apart from it. Now she’s stabbing me with her sharp tongue. Furious, an acute yearner, she’s letting herself loose, norush. As if shewants tomake more of me. Breast in mouth, with its tip, pain. The tip hurts the most. Hard as a rock. A hand is also there. It’s wounding the flesh, can’t find the entrance to the tunnel. For a random enjoyment, for me to groan, its tip gets in the places it shouldn’t. I’m in her tooth. I can spread up to her palate with my fluids. She likes the taste, it always smells the same. She’s one of those who will leave this city. I just can’t pass on to growing. Men. Men. 3

3. Azerbaijani. “i”

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