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| Kabataş - Üsküdar ferryboat on May 9, 2014 |
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| Yellow grate on ferryboat |
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| Çengelköy |
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| Kahvaltı |
A warm feeling that fills me up
Like a hot air balloon,
Lifts me into the rain clouds
Above Istanbul.
At this height obstacles --
A motorcyclist swerving on the sidewalk and
A taxi driver madly turning the corner --
Appear surmountable.
Rain washes
All of these worries away
Down the drains.
On the Kabataş ferryboat
With its mustard yellow painted door,
I send photos of the speedy ride
Across the Bosphorus to Anatolia
To my brothers and sisters in the USA
As if to say,
I feel grateful to be here.
Fog scatters the morning light
And blurs the mosque minarets of the skyline.
We touch down in Üsküdar.
Descending the slick boat prow,
We step over the gap,
Ignoring the water depths below.
Opposite the dock,
A blue minibus fills up:
Inside blue LED lights
Illuminate us like deep ocean fish;
Our warm breath fogs up the
Submarine windows
As we ride along the Bosphorus seaside to
Havuzbaşı Sokağı in Çengelköy, or
Poolside Street in Hook Village.
Standing out against the slate gray skies,
Greenery strikes a deep chord:
Rain drops pummel
Drooping, translucent green leaves
And tree boughs stretching out overhead
Like giants after a deep slumber.
As the mud beneath my feet
Sucks out any urban concerns
From my primitive sense of
Belonging to the blue and green.
As I emerge from the park,
My student waves from
Her treehouse balcony and
A spotted black dog gives me
A sweet doleful look,
Melting my heart into
A puddle of joy.
Like the wind in my sails,
Students enter my life
Out of the blue.
Before strangers,
Now shipmates,
We brave the storms and
The turbulence of the seas
As we train our minds together:
Fulfill a desire for adventure,
Steadfastly continue on and
Explore new sights and sounds.
A magnificent view of
Ships passing along the Bosphorus strait
And broccoli-like trees
Majestically guarding the crests of the hilltops
Awaits me
As I climb up the marble steps to
Gökçe, whose name means sky language,
At her home touching the clouds.
With the grace of an angel, she
Fills me in on the familiar origins of
Each ingredient as she
Prepares a sumptuous kahvaltı,
Melts the bergama tulum peyniri,
Cracks three eggs,
Stirs and breaks the egg yolks
For a Turkish cheese omelette,
Thaws out frozen, fruity green olives and
Rinses salt off the soft, chewy black olives --
That her grandmother had scratched
For better fermentation --
Taken from her family farms in Bursa and Izmir.
Even olive pits hold benefits:
A cure for stomach illness and
A fuel for fire.
Freshly baked simit,
Sesame seed bagels, that she
Calls gevrek because of her hometown Izmir
Fill the basket on the tablecloth.
Pink ayva jam that her mother had
Loving prepared
With quince slices and lemon zest
At a desired consistency,
Strawberry preserves
And waxy, golden honeycomb
Sweeten our bread.
Dedicated to Gökçe