When the Crashing Waves Spoke

John Casquarelli
Featured image: Seagulls waiting for the storm © Briana Gervat 2019

Decades of similes flooding
from fingertips to the Black Sea
like a luminescence from the
Rumeli lighthouse. An old
fisherman promising two cats

a little food or a single act
of kindness between gusts
and longitudes. I was there
when mermaids sang to
sailors, when friends sipped

Yeni Raki and told epics of
starfish that crowned oceans
like a million suns ablaze
throughout Andromeda.
Why did I conceal my

imagination when Sarıyer
opened her arms in fog
and mist? Would I ever
have a story to tell that
did not include my father’s

death? Baklava’s sugar
glazing your lips, çay held
delicately at the rim as if all
reality was a dream fashioned
from the curls in your hair.