Prosecards from the Edge (of a Continent)

A running commentary on my life in Izmir, Turkey...and other thoughts.

Thursday, July 03, 2008


these days of
gigantic sugary pink watermelon coolness
when peaches explode down my shirtfront

zzzzt zzzt cicadas zzzt zzzt hum in trees, louder even than the busses
tenacious ants march through my kitchen, ever martyrs for their cause
and this once perhaps they are surprised

to find themselves victorious
- take the kitchen! have it!
I am fleeing the fortress, ceding the city, trading shimmering concrete and exhaust
for sea and the scent of wild thyme

out there
sunscreen smell speaks beach
sea salt draws white designs on skin, I think I can read my future there
ah, the scent of brine; the cry and squabble of the gulls!
floating in turqoise, I am an infant again, gently lifted and rocked
bikini lines - oops, I need a wax
zoooom - a Vespa whizzes by, quintessential summer sight.

at a shady fruit stand the proprietor sweats and dozes.
his sweet white apricots glow like gemstones, wine-dark cherries embody original sin.
not to be outdone, strawberries flaunt their outrageous come-hither aromas and I am drawn...

sizzle calamari frying ssssssssssssssizzle the scent is driving me mad (even though I had two portions yesterday)
smooth beach rocks surrender to idle contemplation
faces looking back at me
look - this one's got an evil grin; this one seems surprised to see me
- and over here's an alien -- with glasses.

come, rest in my pocket, let my hand brush against your coolness when I need this place again on some darker day

our heels rest on sea-worn beach glass, smooth on the edges, and a bit of tile with spiraling design - how much history has it seen, how long since it served the function it was born for?
summer shoes - flip, flop, flip, flop, flip, flop
grains of sand tickle between my toes
POP! fizzzzzz beer bottle cool on my leg guzzle guzzle cool in my throat.
aaaaaahhhh, SUMMER!

I drink, while the muezzin chants the call to prayer (forgive me).

a horsefly wants a piece of me - shoo, fly. You are impinging on my paradise.

we talk and sex is in the subtext, while aloud we speak of football and fashionistas, dreams and the dropping dollar.

sea wet becomes heat sweat; in I dive again, eyes open. A fish looks back at me, unblinking.

later an afternoon siesta; we sleep like angels and then
rising from repose, find the

sea has stretched our appetites.
in the kitchen
a radio plays, we sing, knives flash;
the scent of warm tomatoes and parsley mingles with the
purple twilight
a benevolent wind whispers through the house
big melon moon looms

lanterns flicker and go out; we try in vain to re-light them
then settle in the dark.
honey melon melts on tongue, raki spreads its anise perfume and with it dreams of a better world that we shall build, one night at a time

low conversation fills out the dark
i am too happy

it frightens me


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