By Carl Boon

In a Brussels cafe, she orders
coffee and cake. Though far from home,
she's unwavering in her remembering.
Her mind makes pictures 
of Istanbul's gems: the Dolmabahçe Palace,
the Haghia Sofia, the Bosphorus Bridge
at sunset. There are men on ferries
passing under that bridge,
perhaps her father holding a paper cup
of tea. Finished, she passes 
the Rue des Bouchers, following 
her father's last words
and the smoke from a stranger's
cigarette. Already, she's finding a way
to live without him. First there's distance:
a flight, a border, a passport.
Then there's death, which will intrude
on the Rue de Neuve some ordinary Tuesday
while she holds a book of French phrases
and the poems of Christian Beck.

Carl Boon lives in Istanbul, where he directs the English prep school and teaches courses in literature at Yeni Yuzyil University. Recent or forthcoming poems appear in Posit, The Adirondack Review, The Tulane Review, Badlands, The Blue Bonnet Review, and other magazines. (Updated July 2015)