Eliot Fisk Plays “Memories of Alhambra”

“Memories of Alhambra” he calls it,
And already I know I’m in trouble.
Woody Allen’s doppelganger
Dances impossibly deft fingers
Over a small, custom guitar
Sounding not like one, but two.
Transported to a life I have not yet lived,
More lovely than a dream,
I recall stories once imagined
While visiting the ancient Moorish castle
Of love gained and lost,
Deeper than the Mediterranean.
Despair and satisfaction
Of having felt so profoundly,
Loved so intensely…
It is a gift almost too much to bear.
I open my eyes to see antsy children
Squirming on the hard floor.
Devoid of context,
Music means nothing to the innocents.
M’ijo lost his seventh tooth today…
I invite him to come sit on my lap.
He smells of cherries and apricots.
“Close your eyes and see where the music takes you,” I say.
He won’t, so I close my eyes for him.
Images I once tasted in the Alhambra,
Pheromones of youthful campesinos
Bubble up alongside Spanish dancers,
Humid earth busting
Right before the rain,
Wielding salty tears that run like bulls
Down my cheeks without abandon.

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