Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

I seek out the street that shares your name

amble behind the bull ring

alongside the Guadalquivir

across the Puente de Isabella II

past the restaurant

where we ate poorly-fried tapas

when we weren’t hungry.

Well, you were hungry

for love

a pledge that even if I didn’t love you then

I would one day

maybe here

in the picturesque

riverside barrio

the gritty side of town.

What could induce love

if not

a sunset river cruise

beautiful glazed tiles

thin lyrical gypsies

furied dance

expressive hands

arced arms

soulful song

percussing the walls of my chest?

We tried so hard

yet trying has never led to love.

What is it about this cool winter day

clouds heavy and rain-gray

nothing like the dry summer

blinding Andalusian sun

that scorched dormant seeds

prevented love’s bloom

that makes me retrace our steps

come face to hoof

with the overhead display of cured jamón

thick and blood-dried

hanging in the tapas bar

invoking a memory of the photo

I remember more clearly

than your eyes

an older, hazier memory

of beaded curtains

an adolescent bedroom

the feel of the beads in my hand remains

almost nothing of the boy

his illicit invitation to cross over

to enter…

Enter what?

It is madness to search

for love that never existed

for you-from-the-past

transported

transformed

to one I came to love

for the might-have-been-me

who came to love you

for words I’ve yet to write

to make myself known

even to me.

Madness

this urge to see what’s on the other side

of beaded curtains

arched stone tunnels

the room just to the back

the stairs that lead up

the verse that won’t leave my mind

this treasure hunt

for that which never existed

or that which did

and because it did

is more transitory

than fantasy

stoked with eternal longing

fires fed with constant kindling

of romantic desire

longing

poetry

that sadistic aphrodisiac

temporary balm

lulling us to forget

that time moves on

while it seems to stop

in a line.

I stroll

along the river

through the back streets

across the bridge

back home through the plaza

invited to cross over

to enter that which lies

just behind the portals

disguised with beads or Iberian hams

memories or fantasies

skies sun-blanched or portending the storm

loves that bloomed

loves that never would.

And if I found you,

would my thirst be quenched?

Would I end my wandering

search no longer for portals

accept loves once loved

words already written

the way both are destined to fail?