Bejan Matur

1968 / Kahramanmaraş

Every woman knows her own tree

When I came to you

I was going to open my wings

over that deserted city

built of black stones,

and find a tree and perch on its branches

and shout with pain.

Every woman knows her own tree.

That night I flew.

I passed over the city that darkness feared to enter.

Having no shadow the soul

was lonely.

I howled like a dog.

© translated by Ruth Christie
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