The Turkish Bath | Hamam

1 February 2017

Foamed, steamed, speechless
ghosts —

I, my grandmother and a few
others — How nice, angels

are more visible here.
I feel more feminine, and

all women start looking alike
Is this a way to pay one’s account?

To whom?
No one knows what’s happening here

my grandmother thinks
of boiling potatoes for supper

and yet I am bathing Nietzsche’s
Zarathustra in my mind’s eye

Look how much
the truth hurts us in this sogginess,

an Ottoman lullaby is strained out of anxiety,
tinkles in my belly button.

I drown in laughter
from the hypothermia of my soul.


The Turkish Bath

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