Flamenco – Short Prose

I want my body burned on pyre
a Viking boat will take me far on the cold sea
I want to leave my grave goods for the poor
and take the pain which branded their souls
into a bursting aurora borealis fire
I want to feel the sobs of the North Pole.

I want to burn inside the rhythms of the flamenco
flame in the dancers’ passion in the streets of old Córdoba
I want to entertain rich masters for a piece of bread
inside the silent cries of those who are misunderstood
I want the desperation of the dancers dressed in red

and you, the one who always claimed to know
what powers lie inside the jungle of my soul
you’ll fade into your own acoustic lamentations
the fated day when I, the queen of sufferers, proclaim
that in the sanctity of the mandala
I want to disappear without a name

Included in my book: Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings

Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
Federico García Lorca

open your veins Andalusia
let him drink from your lynx blood
inject the rhythms of the flamenco
under the coldness of his eyes
tattoo his flesh with tiles of azurite
pour the sounds of castanets
into his arms
my fingers swirl
the flesh of ripened olives
covers the old shroud
the flow of blood from the white shirt
has stopped
I hear his voice
there is one cross
and you’re my only love
my body arches
oils flame in my hair
a Moorish verse falls from a wall
covering my cries