Guzelim, from the Turkish, meaning "my dear one." |
Guzelim My favorite nights were the ones you whispered to me in your language. “Guzelim,” you called me. “Guzelim, we shall always be together. “If we were in my country, I would take you to the spice market. I would buy you oils and perfumes, and yards of the finest silk. “My mother and grandmother would sew the silk into a gown, which you would wear when I claimed you.” I would laugh and pull myself in closer to you, feeling the soft paunch of your belly pressing against the curve of my back, and ask you to tell me more. “In my country, our wedding would last forty days and forty nights. We would feast and share gifts with everyone in the village. “I am a traditional man, guzelim, and we would follow tradition.” I closed my eyes and envisioned the ancient world of spires sweeping high above the mosques, sitting next to a tall skyscraper, all overlooking the Aegean Sea. Like a postcard photo, me, fair, short and round, my bright orange hair pressed against your black shirt. You, dark and tall, but just as round, the burnished brown of your skin matching the bronze pressed into the spires of the mosques. My breathing would deepen as you spoke of your homeland, describing the Bosporus strait, as I rested my head upon your arm. One of your hands would intertwine with mine, two fleshy thumbs tangling around each other. Each morning when I woke, the bed was cold, an image of your form still pressed into my mattress. On the nightstand, a yellow sticky note with one Turkish word and two English ones. Guzelim – Until tonight. |