bitter yet sweet.
Always these oranges tease at my heart.
Even as a pungent memory,
the taste lingers; the tough peel resists,
then tears, and I pull the skin away
to reveal little sections
of bitter, yellow fruit, so loved
the trees line every street, and the fruit
lies on the ground, forbidden.
Just outside the Cathedral of Seville, I rest
in the Patio de los Naranjos, to admire
this place, once a mosque, built in 1172,
converted to a grand cathedral in 1511.
Yet history remains juxtaposed
against the murmured prayers,
tourists ramble through these aisles,
in awe of turrets and towers,
truly this edifice is the base of faith, recast as a tree,
upside down, that will transform us all,
or not, as they say:
Más vale pájaro en mano que cien volando,
But I don’t think a bird in hand is more
than one hundred flying free, for
far above this cathedral,
I see one hundred flying doves,
each one singing of peace and oranges.
|Patio de los Naranjos, Seville, Spain (Camp, February 2019)|
We spent a month in Seville last February, a magical month of history and culture, long walks, and amazing tapas and sangria at sidewalk cafes. Today’s prompt for National Poetry Month from NAPOWRIMO (delightfully detailed) led to this poem and the memory of an afternoon spent at the Cathedral of Seville.
And, yes, for us, it's Day 26 of staying at home. Be well. Write a poem?