## POSTCARD FROM SIRINCE, TURKEY

(Pronunciation shee-REEN-jeh,)

Sirince nestles in the hillside folds.

At dawn, Janan sits in peaceful

solitude amid the dewy meadowland

gathering daisies to weave

into fragrant, floral coronets.

a labour of love,

sold for pennies,

to crown the long

and shining hair

of doe-eyed girls

who wander in

carefree, chattering

groups among

the steep,

and winding

alleyways.

Now, her modest smile,

wordlessly invites

me to view her meagre wares

of herbs and spices

which intoxicate my senses.

She poses serenely for me,

her gentle features familiar

to me as from another life,

another place.

Here, in this little paradise,

Greeks and Turks commune

in perfect harmony

tending the fruits

destined for wine.

mulberry,

apple,

apricot,

banana,

blackberry,

blueberry,

creamberry,

melon

orange,

peach,

quince,

cherry

and

strawberry-

a cornucopia,

whose overspill,

gathered and pressed

is sipped by Sirince’s

many visitors.

…

Now, sitting in my room,

the cold Summer rain,

tapping on my window,

I raise my glass and breath

once more, the scents

and sights of Sirince

in all her peaceful glory.