Minibus, Istanbul, March Carl Boon The driver’s remembering a girl he wanted. I see it in the way he maneuvers through the traffic near Marmara University. It could’ve been simple— a garnet bracelet, her mother preparing Turkish coffee and a plate of chocolate. It could’ve been a union, a wedding in Üsküdar, all gold and flimsy decorations swiped down by teens. It could’ve been more than the more he imagined, all the way to infinity, her hair on the pillow, a Sunday with snow. But now it’s just me, a foreigner waiting to get off at Ayşekadın, walk the six blocks home, wash, and heat last night’s soup. But for a moment we were one, this driver with a two-day beard, this girl that said goodbye, this city that won’t submit. What’s left is a way forward or maybe the gas station across from the Starbucks where three stray dogs face off among a plate of rotten meat. Right: Broad Street in Winter by Vincent Natale Martinez 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, Lunch Ticket, and Poetry Quarterly. He is also a 2016 Pushcart Prize nominee.
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