Dying in Seville

The scent of jasmine penetrated the summer nights.

Seville sparkled like a gift while our marriage ended slowly.

We did not know a part of us was dying there, and

For three years we were like fortunate tourists, lingering.

It was there that we lost each other, but our arguments were swallowed up by the emotion of an ancient city.

We were a mournful part of tapas bars, Flamenco dancing, bistros, orange trees, museums, cathedrals – 

Our constant petty arguments poured themselves with the wine and a nightmarish stream of consciousness, dissipating into paradise, surfacing again amongst pleasures, inflicting cruel injuries at random.

I am far away from Seville now but I can bring it back in an instant –

Magically, a song or a thought can be my transportation into that world where we knew such riches and then pushed them aside, preferring instead to revel in misery and blame.

Someday I’ll go back without you, to cobblestone streets, mosaics that defy the passage of time,

Narrow, winding pathways that one must always follow, 

And a city that proclaims its presence loudly to all who wish to listen.

You’ll be there, too. See you then. I love you.

                               --Debra Payne, PhD

*Poem and pictures by Debra Payne

*Paintings (a punto y guitarra parda) by Antonia Jaen