wildscape. literary journal

Rotation
by Sarp Sozdinler

In the photograph,
my father stands beside a missile.
No one is smiling,
but it isn’t political.

They have just eaten lunch.
There is lamb in their teeth.
One man is holding
an empty wine bottle like a baton.

*

In Ankara, the fountains run
even in winter.
I say “run”
as if they’re fleeing.

My aunt writes that it’s peach season
but the trees are stalling.
She suspects a conspiracy
among the roots.

*

I dream in Turkish.
But the subtitles are in English.
They rarely match.

Someone is always knocking
from the inside.

about the author // Sarp Sozdinler