74 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW The Moon over Ankara by Hannah Shierman CONTRIBUTOR’S NOTE: This poem explores my time spent in Turkey and how I felt out of place in that city but still loved the beauty I found there. I observed Western secularity clash with traditional Islamic faith and referenced that within this poem. The explicit references to a “god” in this piece do not refer to the Christian God that the wanderer knows, but rather to Allah, the harsh god of Islam. As I meandered through the nighttime streets of Ankara, I was struck with the desire to share the truth with street vendors and merchants, but did not have the words or the connection to do so. I created the character of the wanderer to examine these conflicting emotions. Flashing neon lights like ivy spiral up the buildings high Where glass reflects the piercing moon, sole fruit of the city’s yield The distant castle clings to rocky ground that forms the mountain valley While hanging flag, poled upon a beam of silver, stands; That crescent moon starred upon a blaze of fire red— Remembrance of their covered shame, god-requested. Darkness cool blows through this city of olives and oils, A vineyard lighted by the absence of the sun, Smelling of cigars and spice, tea and coffee, shouts and shame With shops blazing bright lit signs, merchants echo Gel al, gel al, and all the fruit in darkness spreads Before the lonely wanderer, beckoned in with foreign cries. The wanderer has the word but lacks the common tongue, Can only point to the sky’s reflection of the sun Asking when day will make all clear again When neon dims, replaced by ivy tracing merchant signs Wreathing fruit markets, produce stands Up the mountain to the mosque, gold-capped pillar prayers. The haunting, echoed call to prayer tolls above the neon city night But the sun is higher still, for the moon bows to the day Midmorn flames will sheer the nighttime curtain from the skies Its shame descending down the cobbled ivy streets Where the wanderer, lost but for his fallow flame in fading moonlight, Waits on cobbled streets for the fruitful hope of dawn.
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