Granada;
sweet like soggy piononos,
rolled up like all those softish syllables,
wound within my mouth, the cinnamon of them coming out of yours.
Granada;
the smells of pungent urine, the sticky cobblestones
broken shoes and inflamed graffiti.
Granada;
the white houses of the Albayzín stacked up the Sacramonte,
the flowers spilling from their open eyes,
shifty hands, strumming hands,
the smell of onion on my hands, olive oil
tart on the tongue, and soft still.
Granada;
that self-sure stride across the busy street,
tapas always coming, the little forks, the sharing,
sweet tinto de verano making soft the wettish midday heat,
on your forehead, the back of your neck.
Granada;
the festival feeling in the stomach pit, always coming,
emptiness of days gaping over the school calendar,
the tense planning,
and the hugeness of possibility, spread out across the European map,
the anywhere-urge between my ribs, flighty,
the love for this place is far from sedentary.
Granada;
fountains, fountains,
colored lights at night, summer weddings and
their impossible wardrobes—those big stilt shoes,
somehow straight, skinny ankles,
the fireworks, just behind the corner
of some brick building or another.
Granada;
the cathedrals, their ugly history,
the gold, the crumbling statues,
the paradoxes of time and place,
and all our stupid textbook warnings in the wind,
Marias smoking María, the words we learn
in black lit bars, in and out of us like the beer.
Granada;
another melting pot,
an orchestra of accents,
over bocadillos, over café con leche,
over tomato puree, paella, watery chicken soup,
over anything two pm or ten o’clock,
those endless lunches, dinners,
and him laughing at me for potatoes in the morning,
eating up America,
which they say is a pinkish sauce and hamburgers,
which they say is a tendency to say so, to say nice nothings,
which they say is a lack of proficiency with the map,
which they say is a lightness of hair, a presence on TV, which makes me wonder,
how many Americas there are.
Granada;
the never spicy stomach ache,
the maze of grocery store dilemmas, pricey plastic,
the smell of fresh bread and a woman who puts your fruit into a bag,
ham and ham and fish,
Granada;
midnight kitten footsteps,
and their kind of fear,
their kind of smallness in the women, too.
Granada;
the broken-pixel TV screen,
the tiny curve I discovered in my leg,
hookahs and leather in the crowded shops, the teterías,
double kisses on the cheeks, that hope,
with each new face,
all the questions, spilling out,
the burly buses, full, the uphill hike, the fliers,
your name on a list, peeing behind a dumpster, a wall, a bush,
that newfound feeling of happy surprise
when there’s paper in the toilet stall,
the unexpected gratitude for punctuality,
and simultaneously the dwindling sense of its importance,
post-ten o’clock beer at stores where
you swear you aren’t being racist, it’s just called that,
the graph paper notebooks, always,
that question, ni pescado? following the near unheard of claim,
vegetariana.
Granada;
always surreal, always walking,
dogs in the alleys, scabby with hanging teats,
rarely leashed, and their shit on every street,
the strange little exercise stations at random in the plazas,
the plazas, benches full, the sleeping homeless,
the botellons and that incredible brand of legality,
catcalls, bronze,
the postcards and to-do lists, the photocopies,
flimsy prescriptions, sandals,
Granada;
a certain clean laundry scent,
the clothing hanging outdoors,
a million shitty red cell phones and that annoying song,
the Spanish affected versions of:
chaser, awkward, spoon—
ensuing laughter,
drinking games, hand gestures,
frustration in my chest, and
up and down days,
the language laying stubborn on my tongue,
sleepy Spanglish, blisters,
exhaustion on the happy days,
exhaustion on the impossible days,
exhaustion after walking, after drinking,
after being out till eight am, after an early-morning trip,
exhaustion after listening, after telling.
exhaustion always,
and that double-sided incredulity;
it’s already been over a month,
it’s only been just over a month.
