postcards, my love

sometimes you have to travel to remember...

sometimes you have to travel to forget...

A scorpion slept under my bed,

and Turks sang love songs on the street.

I took a train from Granada to Madrid

and sat behind a man with the largest stature,

he wore a long robe, and had a long beard.

And, when the sun disappeared somewhere beyond the

filmy window

he sang a prayer that floated over my head.

When we arrived, he lifted my suitcase down

and pressed his hand to his heart with a smile.

I carried you on roads,

I carried you without you knowing, except maybe

when you learned new smells,

without reason.

and could feel yourself approaching borders

developing little blisters on your heels.

I danced a thousand dances for you,

to songs from which I couldn’t catch the words.

A woman sat on the street with her son,

picking at an accordion.

My breath paced

around as though the rain could

carry it’s carbon to you.

I pray for you, and the man’s song carries

over hills

insects crawl, hunting sugar and

sometimes I lie awake

with a sweetness on my lips,

a sore body and

the richest song sticking in my head, thinking

do you know where you’re going, my love?

can you feel the places you’ve been?

more poems at 'smoke signals'

<3