Sunday morning, 5am

it rained during the night
my Turkish flag flutters
damp in the wind
the street is empty
but did I expect it
not to be
at 5 o’clock
in the morning
it’s Sunday all day
quiet now
after last night’s speeches
and chanting
people are still protesting
what is to them
a move to dictatorship
it’s all flashback
the sixties
something I survived
to find myself observing
here in my adopted land
the cat has followed me
out here to the living room
and sits on the back
of my chair
wondering
just what we will do
as I sit here wondering
what will become
of a people
I have grown
so very fond
of
this morning
all mornings
in ancient Istanbul

the only place left to go

the future hangs over
everything I do
like a weight
an anvil, say
around my neck
or a cloud
a rain cloud
overhead
like some cartoon character
moving quickly forward
while a storm brews
the weight slowing my scurrying
toward shelter
though there is no shelter
apparent to me
on this, or any, horizon
oh well
what else to do
but stumble on
going forward
toward what can only be called
an uncertain future
the only place left
to go