ISTANBUL Poem by Maria Barnas

The streaming men the meandering women
and the splashing children are lost as in a dream.

The pouring rain has no grip on the wading bodies
in the waning imaginary sun. I follow the water

that gushes through the streets to a flickering hotel
where my open suitcase floats in a river room.

While someone produces a variation on a melody
in the mouth of someone who doesn't know when to stop

betrayal raves away from me like a ship
of lives that I loved catching the wind in its sails

The windows rise. Someone thumps on the wall of the room
in which I gather up my life. Could it be a bit more quiet.