Like a Plum
Ourfa, Summer 1915
Khatoun Agha Boghos (dictated to Iskender Agha Boghos)
Their two heads almost touch. Khatoun and Iskender Agha Boghos, husband and wife, bent over the desk in his room. Paper, ink, pens. The contents of Iskender’s drawer scattered in front of them.
“There are sonnets, and they’re fourteen lines. And haiku which are short – two thoughts balanced with a connecting one. And epic poems that are a book long. And then of course, there’s how to organise sentences together to makes verses. And rhyming, which is when we make words sound the same. And alliteration…”
“Shush,” Khatoun says, her hand on Iskender’s lips. “Slow down.”
“Yes,” Iskender exhales. “Slower. Yes.” He’s over excited. His wife had come to him. In his office. Asked for his help. He didn’t know
