Snow on the Sand: Poetry by Carl Boon

By Carl Boon

 

A Turkish Girl Gets Engaged

Aunt Merve had it predicted.
The scenes played out
like soap operas
in her coffee grounds.

One could see
her nearly weeping when
Aunt Elif served the baklava.
A boy with floppy bangs,
a boy who’ll rave upon
Aunt Nesibe’s okra.

Bitter sweetens bitter, she thinks,
measuring her hips,
his feet, how many children,
how many scarves to knit this winter
when the hills of Izmir run with rain.

They’ll live in a city
where the snow falls
on the sand, drive a blue car
and tell each other stories
of Ramadans of old, uncles
that came from the East
with watermelons, fountain pens,
the accoutrements of love
before it became a thing foretold.

 

Venus & the Fig Tree, November

One bore its fruit,
and we scooped the white with spoons
from your grandmother’s cabinet.
Sunburned, we raced
on legs made stronger
by the Marmara Sea.

You remember how we searched
the sky for planets,
so far from the cold—
like one loved long
but never touched.

Now the sky has changed,
and Venus with its skirts
and parasols edges dead leaves,
makes their gold more gold,
the least-sought season.

If you were here again with me,
an ornament might pass
between us, more lovely
that it ought to be, more fragile.
Your hands would close upon air,
and I would harden.


A native Ohioan, Carl Boon lives in Izmir, Turkey, where he teaches courses in American culture and literature at 9 Eylül University. His poems appear in dozens of magazines, most recently Burnt Pine, Two Peach, Ink In Thirds, and Poetry Quarterly. He is also a 2016 Pushcart Prize nominee.

One comment

  1. I was enchanted by the line, “You remember how we searched the sky for planets, so far from the cold- like one loved long but never touched.” Ah yes, I remember it well.

    Like

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