from my unpublished second collection
We’re walking the boardwalk There’s a row of benches facing the sea, which is gray-white, the color of the clouds, the seagulls watching a storm front build, their shoulders hunched against the wind if the place where the wings join the body are shoulders, where we will grow wings in the life to come
In the cafe across the street, the men are watching an old TV One waves at us, a student I teach English to We are not at war, a man in military dress is saying Maneuvers State of readiness Certainly a threat would be answered
We buy tomatoes and olives, and two kinds of cheese, for breakfast tomorrow, and some fruit You grill the lamb while I unpack then step out for coffee freshly ground, about which we argue briefly, since it is expensive and we won’t be able to use it up
The shop is warm and bright I get the kind of chocolate that you like to patch things up and the proprietor’s children point and giggle Not for grownups He hushes them
Back home, I bring up staying, let it drop We watch the fire for a long time We could call back our students Wait and see
You fling open the shutters and stride to the balcony I follow you Over the wine-dark sea: no movement The fishing boats are moored The enemy’s islands are shrouded in mist
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First published in the Atlanta Review
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images and text © by Alpay Ulku
