Member-only story
Janissary
My parents were Christian, Serb,
I remember the icons in my mother’s house,
The smell of roasted meat on feast days.
One Orthodox Christmastide,
I think I was nine or ten,
My parents made me hide when the Turks
Came to our village in Kosovo again
Looking for boys and women.
My father was ashamed.
He hung his head.
I pretended I was dead.
Hiding under my sister’s bed.
The devşirme sought me.
Took girl hostages.
Told the elders they would let the soldiers loose
They’d rape them.
Until they were dead.
They said.
So, slowly, I showed my head.
And the Turk commander smiled
Put a börk on my head, a cap
Full of dread,
That meant I belonged to him.
Only then did I arrive in the world of men.
I had joined the kaşık kardeşliği,
The brotherhood of the spoon, and was soon
