Timothy Dodd
Turkish Reunion
An arrival in apricot and chickpea, turnip and cherry
juice; foreign phrases vibrating memory; and names
of bus lines in the old otogar: Amasya, Dogubeyazit,
Trabzon. Two decades changes much: politics, roads,
printed currency—but I’ve returned for the friendship,
Pontic tombs and Hittite ruins, limestone caves and tea
at rusty tables in small towns, whatever the land grows.
Two more decades and it will all pass to the next age
without me, but today is mine, greedy for yogurt sprung
from mountain goats nibbling all day on wispy thyme—
and for the herdsman who smiles at his visitor, shakes
my hand like an old friend speaking common language.