For Eve
I
must have stopped
before
I felt her gaze:
an
old dame squatting
in
the sun,
by
Sultanahmet.
Her
hand reached out,
pressing
a nazar bead
into
my palm;
then
motioned me to go,
back
where she thought
I’d
come.
Lost
all day,
I
couldn’t say,
not
speaking her language.
The blue bead hangs
above my daughter’s bed -
an amulet or nazar boncuğu,
left there
and probably discarded.
Maybe she knew that too,
the lady in Istanbul;
but gave me the nazar
anyway,
as proof against
malochhio,
matiasma, ayn al-ḥasūd
the evil eye;
trusting that it would find a home
when one was needed.
a trove of other gifts:
pendants and bangles,
charms and rings;
a Pippi Långstrump doll,
barbies and beanie-babies.
Beside, in pride of place,
a poster of Edward Scissorhands,
proving perhaps,
in London Town, as anywhere,
that innocence
must stand protected.
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