26 декабря 2024
a you of the size of a blueberry,
I could barely spend an hour without putting something in my mouth,
a cracker or half a banana,
otherwise a wave of nausea would be stuck in my throat, threatening to come out
the taste of a new life is metallic mixed with French fries and sour candy
like the candy I used to eat when I was little
it dissolves in my mouth making a hissing sound
it tastes like the village summers in my grandma's house
like the ice creams from a local shop and fresh bread and the carrots from the garden
like the ayran made and brought by a neighbour
that taste is gone, the supermarket ayran is nowhere near it
now that I'm abroad, the Turkish ayran is way too salty
the Polish kefir is not thick enough
for my last birthday party, I made orama
I mixed minced meat with finely chopped onions and tiny cubes of potatoes
wrapped it in dough and laid it in a steamer pot
that's what my mom used to cook for a special occasion
birthday smells like orama mingled with honey cake and boiled vegetables
orama smells like home and excitement
an hour had passed, and I took the upper layer and put it on a plate upside down
the holes in the steamer pot left large dots on the cooked dough
a friend said, it looks like a caterpillar
I said, I've never thought about this
what will my child remember when she grows up --
will you remember how I take my ring off before kneading the dough
how I lick my fingers stained with melted chocolate
how I stack the dishes unwashed next to the sink
but most importantly,
what will be the dish that, for you, will taste like our home?
but for now, you only know the taste of my milk
you smell of my milk
and you smile with your toothless mouth
and chew on your hands
and I say,
look at your delicious fingers!
tatti qyz
zhep qoyam seni
you're so sweet I would eat you if I could
and I would carry you again in my belly
rocking you to sleep
feeding you
waiting for your kicking and rolling
eating to fill both of us
