Dreaming in Istanbul

Dreaming in Istanbul

I dreamed last night of my father,

rescuing me from a prison cell

where I was suddenly incarcerated.

I think it was my words.

Some Turkish tyrant got offended

& stuck me in jail.

I was not distressed. Help was on the way.

On your mission to rescue me, you drove the same

U-Haul in which you transported me across America.

Albuquerque, New Mexico. Texas.

Oklahoma. Kansas. Missouri.

My life was compressed inside your van.

In that summer of 1999, Jimi Hendrix & Bob Dylan

sang “All Along the Watchtower” as we sped past

Motel 6's strewn along the dusty deserts of Route 66.

You grew bleary-eyed from lack of sleep.

I imagined you as the hippie you once were.

Someone to whom I could speak

If only I had been able to resolve

my fears of living and of dying,

without having achieved my dreams.

I see you vividly in Istanbul’s sloping streets,

wiling away the hours on cards and tea

inhaling shisha occasionally.

Existing in the moment,

living life to its fullest,

unlike me,

terrified of turning twenty,

unaware that our time on earth together was limited

& that you would not always be there

to rescue me.