Andalusian Resurrection #poem #poetry

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

Andalusia
I kneel among your cacti fed by salt
your wounded lashes
resurrected him
for yet
another night

@Gabriela Marie Milton

image: Fernando Cortes; Shutterstock; [link]

“I wish to see you walk through the Arco de Elvira, to find out your name and shed a tear.” Federico García Lorca.

a violet sunset laments in the city
saps of triolets flow on my neck
ah, Granada
I stretch inside your memory
like felines on grasslands
a lily cries
my bracelets dangle
the eyes of candles flicker in your Spanish nights

fingers of lascivious desires
steal from my neck the saps of triolets
Granada
play your magical guitars
unleash the beauty hidden in your walls
the frenzy of the flesh which dies
into the ardent gestures of your dance
under La Puerta de Elvira
yesterday two lovers met
and I,
I wait in tears
for the love
which knows the mysteries of triolets

published by Spillwords Press on February 26, 2019

@short-prose-fiction

I am the voice of your past loves
resounding in your wildest fantasies
dressed in roses at the altar of your dreams
I am the one you’ve never had
my soul flows from the tears of the Nile
from the hands of children who still beg
through ruins, darkness, and deep pain
through wars which they will never understand
I am the last who will be saved
for I have sinned under the shadow of His cross
when Spanish fountains cry in the sunset
I am the Desdemona who you’ve never met
today Granada’s just the place
in which García Lorca once was killed
I am the feather of a gold macaw bird
and in the city where bells toll
I am the one whose cries you’ve never heard.

first published in STRAW #zine, London, October 2018

@Gabriela Marie Milton

image: By Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

Dear Readers,
My poem “triolets” published by Spillwords Press.
Please know that your support and love are the real inspiration behind my work.

triolets

“I wish to see you walk through the Arco de Elvira, to find out your name and shed a tear.” Federico García Lorca.

a violet sunset laments in the city
saps of triolets flow on my neck
ah, Granada
i stretch inside your memory
like felines on grasslands
a lily cries
my bracelets dangle
the eyes of candles flicker in your Spanish nights

fingers of lascivious desires
please continue reading here