Zeynep
At the Institute of Cultural Studies, the same riff over and over, an old folk song. I can't hear where the missed beat lies in the intricate percussion, why the movement ends and the professor says, not quite, and they start again. In the cafe across the street, some students have moved their table underneath a willow tree. It is drizzling. They are reading music from a sheet. Someone hums the notes. Everyone is flirting a little, showing off. Puddles, then runlets appear. The rain falls harder. The professor dismisses class, old-school and stern: practice practice practice, you may go. He shuts the window while thunder bounds across the valley and the stragglers gather their things. If he could transform himself into this empty room, or his reflection in the daytime dark, he would do it, probably. Everyone knows his wife died last week. She loved that song.
originally published in The Green Mountains Review
All text and images on this site © by Alpay Ulku
Here is a link to the old folk song Zeynep, as performed by Erkan Ogur and Ismail H. Demircioglu