first drafts.

andalusian love poem, #5

if you want to know,
Madrid is just the same without you.

here and there, sidewalks crack
and the asphalt steams like a river.
from the heat down, legs are bared, hair is wet, tightly tied.

here and there I eat olives with a toothpick
watching slicesof jamon wilt on bread
in the unconditioned air. the waitress
looks at me from the mirror. I speak to her reflection

-I want lemon-water to wash Madrid down
-¿dijame?
-agua, con limón, for me and for the streets.
-que?
-non preocupa sobra las simientes (don’t worry about the seeds, neither)

If there’s a seed here and there,
I shall bury it deep in these spreading streets