Lorca, 1930
____________________________________

Siempre he dicho que yo iría a Santiago
en un coche de agua negra.
—from “Son de negros en Cuba”

Each morning was a chocolate
croissant in the plaza. I’m watching

water fall over stone pomegranates
as nuns pass       crystal rosaries in waterless

fingers. I’m searching for a poem       perhaps
one with piety as the cathedral bells

crack the marble city.
This was your favorite place       mine

too       the maroon sun       the scent of almonds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From The Headless Saints by Myronn Hardy

New Issues Poetry & Prose, Western Michigan University, Dept. of English,
1903 W. Michigan Ave., Kalamazoo, MI 49008-5331
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