Lost and found
Kapalıçarşı, Istanbul
You’d think, with so many about,
anyone misplacing theirs would
simply pick another from the street
but there it is, pinned to a post,
complete with photo: a tabby
like a thousand more roaming
the cobblestones and alleyways
around the Grand Bazaar.
Nothing to mark it out as special.
Inside the maze of vaulted aisles,
he scans the crowd, skims over
tourists, traders, touters, chancers,
women framed in scarves who
follow the ancient paths named for
once upon a time: Aynacılar,
Fesçiler, Kazazcılar, Terlikçiler,
no longer faithful to a single artefact:
mirrors, fezzes, silk thread, slippers.
Past flying carpets paralysed
on Şark Kahvesi’s relic walls,
through passageways devoid
of natural light, he reaches
the very heart, the Old Bedesten,
where only the most valuable items
are offered for sale – religious icons,
old silver, the finest antiques:
the familiar now sought as precious.
There at last he picks out one
from all the rest. Unsuspecting,
she frowns at the opened floor plan
while haggle-hungry stallholders
caress her in a dozen tongues.
He moves towards her, stretches out
a hand. She feels his nearness,
shoves the guidebook in her bag.
Shoves her arm through his.