Munich Blues
by Iclal Akcay

I drifted asleep
before his story
came to an end.
His left arm,
on the dark-blue duvet
his face,
half buried in my hair.

There was nothing else we wanted
from Munich’s fashionable streets
in his room
half Pennsylvania,
half Ankara.
We lay cuddled,
his story-telling voice
still in my ear.

it was just after the fall…
of the Wall…
the time for
buying expensive art,
parking your Porsche out front,
sipping cappuccinos on Leopoldstraße.
and dancing ‘til dawn
in minimalistic, Strenesse clothes
at P1 Cafe

No more
‘Zwillingsschwester Wiedersehen!’
The two sisters having grown up
on opposite sides,
one, a hot shot, IT company owner
who had moved to Munich,
the other, an assembly line worker,
in East Berlin,
with three children
working evenings
as a café Kellnerin.

The party went on
the w-h-o-l-e night,
people getting drunk,
others connecting,
around the Russian men,
and their rounds of nomenklatura,
who were teaching the German elite,
busy networking,
the fine art of standing aloof
in their elegant evening suits
while drinking shots of vodka.

among the art and icon dealers,
a tall man,
staring at me,
and mischievously smiling,
with eyes…
reminding me of Russian winters,
apparently a Gorbachev adviser,
bottle after bottle, chasing women,
a spy catcher.

The very same day,
I met Danny
on the top-floor cafe
of an art gallery.
He was standing,
as usual,
at the top of an escalator,
a glimpse frozen on his face
as if he’d just seen his tormentor.

One blue tent for gamblers,
Competing with the starry night
a belly dancer on a table
and on the second floor,
a fortune teller,
with sad eyes
who held my hand
and buried secrets
deep in my mind’s cache.

The twin sisters’ reunion was approaching,
the waitress would travel by train,
all the way from
Jetzt eine vereintes Berlin!
I stayed for the other sister’s party
by the Starnberger See,
the biggest of five, misty-blue lakes,
surrounding Munich,
in a natural spree.

Danny’s mom, in his story,
is a beautiful American girl,
who lives in a comfort zone
with her well-off family.
One day she drives into a gas station
on her way home
from the university
without knowing
she’s about to have
a pump-boy epiphany.

After the party,
the shared morning ride
made me an incidental witness
to the sisters’ meeting,
which was neither warm,
nor emotional enough for my liking.
The older sister,
the East Berliner,
the one with the silly hat and
plain clothes, was definitely overweight.
I was the first Turkish person she’d ever met.

The face next to Danny’s was his ex
from the university
standing beside him,
like an organic gear,
an attachment to his body.

We dropped her
at an overly cheap B&B,
and drove away immediately
to her sister’s city home
for tea.
Cakes were served,
Espressos sipped,
The dog walked.
Not a word was said
about the older sister,
other than ‘different!’

I dreamt of a thick, foggy-blue forest
in Danny’s arms
after he’d cooked an oven dish
we’d eaten together
with a German girl,
his last ex,
sleeping in the room adjacent.
I heard him calling his mom
Lost in the forest of my dream.
A lock of hair…
fallen over his forehead,
his eyes — moist, deep blue.
calm as a deep mountain lake,
who disappeared one day.