Open Air Bazaar

A friend once challenged me to write about exotic places in times other than our own. This is one of those poems

Open Air Bazaar 

Sometimes I miss The Ottoman Empire--
Suleiman The Magnificent and the 
Avrat Pazari--the Women’s Bazaars

at Konya or Bartin. Such marvelous
times we enjoyed there together--haunting
the various booths for odd prints of silk

recently arrived from the East, or the
rugs come in from the Caucuses. And how
can I forget the aromas--waters

of roses and lilacs--fresh baklava--that 
faint hint of ginger you wore upon your earlobe?