Janissary

Photo by Senor Sosa on Unsplash

My parents were Christian, Serb,

I remember the icons in my mother’s house,

The smell of 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, 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