The first one is the original version which has been published in Askew Poetry Journal: Issue 10, Spring 2011
So many buttons
In Madrid,
I was catching street signs one by one,
dragging them behind me in the
long loose net of the day:
El pintor Juan Gris, Alcala,
San Bernardo, Lope de Vega, Gran Via,
sign after sign, they burned me alive,
I drank in every avenida
like I do rioja.
These memories,
they are imperfectly in their place,
hoisted high above and weightless,
like so many buttons on a winter coat,
so many plazas and stones,
so many footsteps make a road.
I drank cafe
con leche everyday
and my words transformed
into a warm stain of moreno,
a sweet bubbling froth
of lispy castillano.
In New York,
my desires had been dragging
always just behind me,
too close for me to see.
So many buttons
In Madrid, I was catching street signs one by one,
dragging them behind me in the long loose net of the day;
dragging them behind me in the long loose net of the day;
El Pintor Juan Gris, Alcala, Gran Via, Lope de Vega, San Bernardo.
All the names weighed less and less with every ‘avenida’ I burned across.
Todos son flush, perfectly in place upon my memory
like so many buttons on a winter coat;
so many plazas and stones, so many footsteps make a road.
I drank café con leche everyday and my words
turned this warm stain of moreno, bubbling in a froth of sweetness.
turned this warm stain of moreno, bubbling in a froth of sweetness.
In Madrid, New York, Austin, Honolulu,
my desires have been dragging always just behind me, too close for me to see.
-->a revised version was written before the acceptance by Askew and is my current version of it.
In Madrid,
I was catching street signs one by one,
dragging them behind me in the
long loose net of the day:
El pintor Juan Gris, Alcala,
San Bernardo, Lope de Vega, Gran Via,
sign after sign, they burned me alive,
I drank in every avenida
like I do rioja.
These memories,
they are imperfectly in their place,
hoisted high above and weightless,
like so many buttons on a winter coat,
so many plazas and stones,
so many footsteps make a road.
I drank cafe
con leche everyday
and my words transformed
into a warm stain of moreno,
a sweet bubbling froth
of lispy castillano.
In New York,
my desires had been dragging
always just behind me,
too close for me to see.
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