To Adam in Istanbul

Painting credit: W.J. Rathbone http://www.billrathbone-welshartist.co.uk/turkish-paintings.htm

 A word on this poem before I begin. It is based on a true story, but is not actually "true" in the sense that Adam does not exist as a physical person. The themes of the poem, loving and longing from a distance, the feelings of connectedness to someone through empathetic imagination, are all things I've experienced. Adam himself is based off of an amalgamation of a few friends of mine (none of them actually named Adam) as well as a few people who are not friends but I would like to think would be were we to ever be introduced. I normally am not one for introduction to cryptic poetry, believing the meanings to be a bit subjective based on the reader's interpretation (post modern, I know). However, for friends who read this blog as an update of my life, I don't want there to be any speculation or assumptions as to my current romantic state. I am not in a relationship with any handsome scholars of Arabic poetry. I'd like to be, but I am not.

Now then.

To Adam in Istanbul

We say our dual prayers
you and I
you coming home at sunset
kicking up yellow clouds of dust as holy offerings
me waking up to search the lonely ceiling cracks
as if hieroglyphs from God.

My days are an echo of your own
Once, you were awoken to the toll of minarets,
Now NPR is bleating me awake with the death rattle
statistics from the Middle East
Once, you blew your breath across the steam rising from your tea
so too will my cold fingers coil around a ceramic mug,
pulling its warmth into my knuckles
Once, your palms got dirty
glazed with the dust motes and ink of ancient Arabic text
Later, white chalk dust will find its way under my fingernails
and across the back pocket of my pants
Once, you gave a dollar to a beggar for rice
Everyday, a homeless man at my bus stop tells me I have a beautiful ass
and drunkenly asks for a kiss
An hour ago, you ate lamb with dill and lemon;
you smoked hookah with college faculty.
Tonight, I will boil noodles and gaze out my window and hum,
or maybe I will eat fruit naked in the bathtub,
or just watch tv and fall asleep,
forgetting to eat anything at all.

But for now
We say our dual prayers
you and I
you coming home at twilight
kicking up yellow clouds of dust as holy offerings
me waking up to search the lonely ceiling cracks
as if hieroglyphs from God.