tatlı kanlı kız, sweet-blooded child
mosquitoes give you mean kisses when they hear you sigh
everyone wants a piece of you.

you trap the sun in your hair every June
sunflower oil to keep you blonde until September
your fingertips stained the same scarlet of your father’s tea
you clutch green dirt in your palms and rest them on a yellow wood table in satin hijabs
your mother sings softly.

you remember how all brides cover themselves in candles and blood veils and cry
the henna cradled in their trembling lace gloves long for something you’ve never known but still
reach for with your little fingers
the flickering of a hundred flower flames drown
in the heavy chants and floorboard creaks of women on wax-stained carpets
rocking back and forth on their knees
you don’t understand the wailing and the salted cheeks
you pray you will never be touched.

but balkız, honey girl
sticky combs did not protect you from greedy hands
and there were no women to wail for you
your mouth kept your candle hidden under your tongue and you did not speak for a long, sad
time
in fear of those hands down your throat
the same way they were up your stomach.

because you are tatlı kanlı kız
sweet-blooded child
everyone wants a piece of you.