beloved sevilla

here we are again — you and i — at 6:25 am

it's already warmand the sun is about to come up

i’m now at the torre del oro

this time, i am not with a sweet sevilliano on my arm 🙈

nor am i sitting in your ancient stone streets,

breastfeeding a baby,

whilst the other two play in the shade of your heavy fortified walls

now, i sit beneath you and cry tears — tears of deep knowing,

and those oh-too-familiar hot farewell tears

you know, those, that sting your face as they leave your eyes

and wash away pain, as they trickle down your cheeks

sealing in my long relationship with you

unsealing my relationship with him

this time, i came back not for your men

not for the late night tapas bars

and, certainly not for your intense heat

but for you

for all that you are

your ancient streets,

your thick cobbles,

your tall trees and shaded plazas,

your customs and culture

worn so proudly like a badge of honour

like those that have been at war and remember all the sweetness of home

.

i’m scanning my fingers now, searching for any last drops of paprika oil

left over from your cheap plates of tapas

strolling on,

i’ve come to sit in the cool of the feria grounds,

it's not begun yet and all is quiet

i look down and feel the dry sandy ground beneath my feet

conveniently hidden beneath the shade of your casetas

under some striped tarpaulin

with polka dots dancing in my eyes

to me, you will always be one of the homes

that was kind to me

i think you, more than any other, have fed my inspiration and fuelled my passion for books, music, art, dance and hot men

now i entrust you with my firstborn son

the most adorable, kind and creative soul

watch over him and inspire him, querida seville,

as you watched over me and inspired me all those years ago

pull the best from his long, lanky teenage body

keep him safe amongst your heavy stone walls

draw the music from his soul

calling out from your small flamenco taverns

and your reggaeton-filled streets

let Federico García Lorca speak of love to him

from the bougainvillaea balconies

keep his creativity grounded

as you help make it directional for him

so he may not suffer as i have

rest your sweet spanish hand on his shoulder

and, i ask you now, to keep it there for the rest of his days

remind him that this is his home

the home i chose for him to walk through life with

loving you always Sevilla