Was there something in the tea
that he kept serving?
after the fifth or sixth cup
I lost count
too taken with the treasures
he had gathered
in the villages of eastern Turkey
bridal trousseaus
weavings from eighty or a hundred
years before
family heirlooms
bought on the cheap
from country folk
who grandparents had worked
the wool with natural dyes
the faded colors
shone in the shop's light
with a soft
almost unearthly glow
the tea was having its effect
as well

The rugs that hung
pulsing with color
on the walls
were unlike any that
I'd seen before
works of folk art
carefree in their lack
of deference to symmetry
not perfect
like the factory-made carpets
but alive
and rich with vibrant colots
and designs
that spoke the love
the weavers stitched
into the fabric
working not for money
but to bring
something of themselves
their art and spirit
into the home

Now they were hanging
in a shop in Selçuk
where a foreigner
like me
could take a credit card
out of his pocket
and walk off with a piece
of someone's history
their family's heritage
much like the quilt made
by my wife's great-grandmother
bequeathed to her offspring
and which now holds
a place of pride
up on our bedroom wall

So I pray the reverence
with which I treasure
the two rugs that I chose
may someway serve
to compensate the loss
their presence
here in our home in Oregon
betokens