Saffron
Red threads
saffron’s
hot soft smell
bruised on finger tips
Wraps my senses
Drags me over the ocean
Autumn cool and fighting bulls
Children’s feet and hands
pounding out flamenco beats
On starlit stone streets
with blue and yellow tiled bridges
Clouds of rolling language kiss my ears
as people pass the venta
Arab blood stallion stills to watch me
Tossing its ivory mane in greeting
Paco’s finger’s flying
each note plucks my soul
Thirty eight years gone now
since my feet touched Spanish soil
each moment stored for safe keeping
deep within my cells
Some days, they wail
like cante voices
calling me back to Cadiz
Word Ninja Girl 