I have a name
deformed by
customs officers
I have a Name
unlike those names
that fill
the phone directories
of the world
The name was born
from the warm Springs
near Kusadasi
the splendent
crystalline baths
the marble slopes
of Pamukkale
200 miles away
from Kusadasi
As I sit here
and look at
the happy people
on a postcard
drifting away
in cleansing surge
I found my name
in Kusadasi
one hot summer Day
and then I knew
this was my name
and wished
that I had
seen the place
driven the hundred miles
over a Turkish road
to Paradise
and I myself
had cleansed
my sins
and found the memory
in Pamukkale
Go in those waters
and to find
my Name
Strip it of the
vowels
and the consonants
put into
my grandfather’s mouth
that weren´t there
before he sailed
through the Atlantic
Get back our name
for my Grandfather’s peace
Deliver us from
Fake Nomenclature
I can almost see them
before the desk
the customs officer
Italian or from Spain
abandoning
their name
letting it rot
inside the molten wood
of Transatlantics
abandoning our name
in the hope
of new beginnings