Now The Turkish Kids


Now the Turkish kids
address the street
in ill-fitting uniforms,
with bookbags emptied
of summer's thunder.

They ask each other
what became of Merve,
Aleyna and Levent,
that shop on Marmara St.
that sold cotton candy
and twists of raisin bread.

One peels a mandarin orange,
another chews her fingers
until flecks of purple
appear on her lips.
She sighs against the weather,

remembering how-
just weeks ago-the lemon
trees near the coast
withstood the heat
and did not fall.
The courageous one,

she turns toward the traffic,
knowing they will follow-
the boys and girls
whose mouths and hands
have yet begun to glitter.