Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

Waiting to board for Cádiz, in the slate gray Sevilla Santa Justa lobby,

I am surprised to recognize where I am. I have been here before.

Memories tumble and bounce like marbles, skitter, scatter, roll

under chairs, past doorways, into the shop where three years ago

I bought a lipstick, Dark Mahogany #2, which you never grew to like;

into the soulless, time-distorting car return kiosk that turned weariness

into slow-moving rage.

All through the Andalusian countryside, your grave, heavy-hearted

countenance strummed, discordant with my traveler’s capriccio.

Free from responsibility, I was mesmerized by rows of sunflowers

drooping their large brown heads, as you squinted to read

highway signs, navigated reservations and timetables

without speaking ni una palabra of the language.

I remember now how much I wanted our rhythms to resonate,

how alone I felt after our allegro gave way to a slow, measured

andante, you content to languish in the key of slow caresses,

me reaching for modulations in timbre and tone, progressions

that would spark a dance, or at least a poem

where the dried sunflowers were a metaphor.

I kept trying to sing you in my own key, wanted bronze lips

to transform my pink-hued skin Española, a make-believe

identity I believed in more than I believed in us. Maybe it was this

you didn’t warm to, not the lipstick.

I return to the cosmetics store, purchase a tube of mauve-based nude.

My body hums to the sway of the high-speed train.

Published in New Note Poetry, Autumn 2022.