by Ece Apaydin
Everything that is holy is swan and now its death
blows towards me from yellow pines
baby wefts strange masks
pacifiers so that they are furious. let’s talk about the pacifiers
pseudo moms
verses that are broken like a swan’s neck
and therefore has been despaired from my meat
the death is opening a white nest from me
This is a fateful day of my life; Monday
white wipes that are gnawned by the worms of the wish tree
some pray for all as if I only lived
for the bottle corks
the lights that are opened for the winter palace
of the grasses in the garden so that they are furious. This sorrow
has fulfilled a love from the missing pieces of a tableware
Those narrated by a much cry and little wool on the roof
Everything that is holy is swan and their legs
does not come out of mud like its neck.
ECE APAYDIN
Translated from Turkish by Koray Feyiz
Last updated June 12, 2016