Spanish Sun

It is not enough that I lay with you,

That our bodies move to surreptitious tempos;

I crave the source, melting your fingers into my bones,

Down where you once told me that

The skylines seemed to shift in tempo of rosewood claves,

From Bogota to Santiago to Buenos Aires,

Through your hot lands and warm bath rivers,

Even on a day’s trek from San Paulo to Rio de Janeiro.

I want to follow you home and see your treasured places,

The hills you roamed as a little girl,

The sky that you watched,

And the old tree that you wished upon for promise and family.

I want to gaze at the moon you loved, the constellations you know,

And the stirred speckles of stars beyond;

I want to travel the rolling roads on which you were made,

In light, birthed in clay and water before you first knew a kiss.

I want to feel my feet press in the pebbles

On the rural paths leading to your city.

I want to inhale your homelands, a rapture of fragrance and serendipity,

With the passion of the twinkling night, the warmth of air, the dances

Where you and your sisters spun and pirouetted, as stained glass ballerinas,

And you in later years,

Were found standing statuesque,

Lovely, with hands of dark grain and irises of rainforest.

On what day was it born?

That Bossa Nova beat in your walk?

When did you first shift your weight on your gritty city streets,

With music in each bend of your toes?

I know there was one Spanish Sun where,

Under its new day radiance, you went from girl to woman,

Adorned with gold and purple over the luster of your skin,

And a smile that wickedly ran with your indifference.

What can I say of you? You are cocoa and caramel—

And the sway of a rippled sunset glistening in magenta and fire.

You’re the hot ocean mating with the land, and deeply,

After darkness, you twirl as an unraveling shooting star.

I want to speak to you in your native tongue,

And taste your language in my saliva,

Feel the glowing images of your rich childhood

So that your blood might live in me.

It is not that I lack, that I desire you,

Nor is it that I seek completion,

But I want to know the heart of the Earth,

Far from the choking throes of civilization,

And you, like no other, dance with her, step for step;

You move together with her in a perfect samba,

So that with your cheek upon my chest,

We and the land melt inward, breathing as one body,

Waxing and waning,

As the immortal days and nights.

(Originally published in The Auburn Circle, Fall 2012.)