A lady brought some books to the counter. They reminded her of being a teenager, and she told me why:

It was 1973, she said.

In her banged-up VW

Taking turns driving

With her then-boyfriend.

“We started in Belgium

And worked our way

Down through Europe

Oh. It was amazing.”

I stopped fiddling

With the CMS

And leaned in

Avidly listening:

“We didn’t have cash

But didn’t really need it

Only for petrol

And the odd sandwich

Wherever we could

Find somewhere local

And cheap enough.

We were in love,

Or so we thought.”

I believed her instantly.

I could see her eyes

Light up even now, caught

In that moment, not this:

Seventy, seventeen years old -

She was neither, and both;

As memories rushed

Out of her like the air

Of a bazaar rushes

Into you, bringing

Spices, adventures, where

You find yourself inside

The bustle and dust

A call to the senses:

You – you are alive.

“We were in Greece,”

She continued, whilst

A queue started forming

Behind her. “So these

Books reminded me

Of 1973

When we explored

These new countries.

I said to him,

I said: Love. I want

To go to Istanbul.”

I leaned further in

And the queue got longer

Behind this woman

Whose hair started white

But got younger and younger

With each word, each tinkling

Bell of happiness

Of warmth she gave out

Irresistible, and sinking

Into those beautiful eyes

I fell; I wanted

To be there, in Greece

In Nineteen Seventy Three

With her, laughing, driving

A jalopy with

Doors falling off

Through dust roads, gears grinding.

A waking work-dream

To be in the story

To hear the story

Olives, tangerines

Plucked straight from the trees

By the side of the road

Whilst the engine cooled down;

Lovers caressed by steam.

“Oh it was perfect,

I guess it was a week

But we didn’t have watches

We looked at the shadows

And slept when night fell

Or where we fell

Into each other

And the rest of it, well

I’m a lady, you know.”

And her eyes spoke

Of breathtaking love

Swimming in the flow

Of humanity, racing

Hearts, prickly heat

Of each other; eternal,

Magnificent, making

Love to each other

With each other

In the moment.

“When we got there

in Istanbul itself,”

She said, holding up

The books that

She’d plucked from the shelf,

“It was everything –

And more –

I’d hoped for.

The call to prayer ringing

Through sandstone and souks:

Thrilling, dangerous,

No tourists back then.

No English spoken. No tours,

Just us, and Istanbul,

And the heat,

And the wild

And the adventure.”

I said: “It sounds wonderful

I was there in 2007

But it was a lot different.

It was easy to travel

And I loved the Blue Mosque

And Hagia Sofia

And the cats prowling

Inside the Tokapi Palace

And that Grand Bazaar

A labyrinth of madness.”

She nodded.

The line behind her

Lengthened yet more. “One

Thing I recall,

More than anything,”

She continued, “Along

The river, the Bosporous,

Wherever people lived

There they fished

And caught tremendous

Glistening, silver, red,

Beautiful creatures.

And you could smell

The grills as you went

Along your way. Every man,”

Yes, and it was men

She assured me,

Carried on: “Every man

Fished his own little space

Of that river.

And all were happy.”

She paused. And her face

Darkened. Her eye-sockets

Seemed to deepen.

“Ah, but now,”

She said, sadly, softly,

“All these countries. The EU.

Why do they come?

To fish in our waters?

To steal our seafood?”

I snapped back, or forward,

Into my time.

And realised

That all that I’d heard

All that she’d said of her dancing

in freedom,

The lovers and magic

And off-the-cuff travelling

Was of naught. Someone so amazing,

So soulful,

So beautiful,

Can come into your life, giving

Memories so wonderful

But a present
So intense.

To hold those memories, whilst

Demeaning the place that 

Allowed it
To happen.
I wanted to cry, but I smiled

And stamped the Istanbul histories

With the return date.

“In three weeks,” I said,

“You are due to return these.

Now who can I help please?”

She left, holding

Three books

And raw shards of my desolate dreams.