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.