On the Road from Antalya to Alana

On the right-hand side of
Emel’s five-ton truck a
photograph of his small
son guards the door.

Painted on the center panel
five red-roofed houses, one hump-backed
bridge, on blue stream with six swans in a 
watery quadrille, and two sheep safely
grazing on a green meadow under
a purple mountain, while
Emel drives bales of cotton
on the highway between
Antalya to Alana.

After the call
from the tower when
he can tell the difference between a black
thread and a white
he prays.

Now he rests over a glass of chai
at the café in front of
the gypsy camp and behind
the diesel station.
All the men
drink their chai and
watch the trucks,
the trucks of Polat and Akdogan and 
Zivorik painted with roses and lilies in
scenes of lakes and forests and mountains,
filled with grey bags of cement and
baled cotton, and frantic-eyed mounds
of sheep.

Emel, son of
Noah, keeper of the ark,
in the hot wet
Anatolian air,
Ararat waiting
a little way
to the east.

Jeanne M. Nichols

www.danielpublishing.com