We climbed
narrow cobblestone spirals
the fortress perched where hilltop meets sky
overlooking the Guadalete River.
Today’s locals boast they can see the back of birds fly
but rarely mention the flight of the Moors
chased and forced by God-fearing Christians
off the land, out of their homes
back across the water
back to Africa
claims nullified
families torn
only the soil remained
Spanish soil for Spaniards
the town now
bleached and dusty in the searing Andalusian heat.
A gateway, the guidebook says,
first on the auto route to Pueblos Blancos
Spanish soil para los turistas
agua fría for sale
recuerdos
un foto con rapaces.
The sweat-stained man stands with captive raptors
tethered to their perch.
Venga, come look. Que bonita.
Enticing a t-shirted American family
with the heart-shaped
ghostly white face
of a barn owl
la lechuza de cara blanca
tranquil on the handler’s gloved arm
stony eyed as it settles on the boy’s shoulder
just long enough for the father to take the picture on his iPhone
exchange a handful of coins
la voluntad
a sign says
for feeding and preservation
a quick transaction to spare the boy
the painful squeeze
if the heat and the handling and the captivity
have angered the owl.
I too commit the sin
of taking what is not mine
capture a photo
the shackled raptor on a teenage boy’s
t-shirted shoulder.
If I look only here, I can stand it.
But I can’t.
My eye returns
to the remaining eleven pairs of shackled feet
eleven sets of claws gripping the pole.
I feel the heat scorch my skin
una mujer de cara blanca
heat that baked my ancestors dark olive
release myself from this trance
seek out the cool tile of the Parador
dark timber beams
against white-washed walls
arches and courtyards
it’s Moorish charm a respite from the heat and the strain of travel
I rest on the hard wooden chair
savor the comfort of quickly melting ice in a glass
the smooth swallow of cava not fully chilled
turn to look at you, looking at me,
two tied-together travelers
your talons gripped
to a branch of hope melting in the heat
wings clipped
how will you get free?
The slender dancer
an atheist, you say
took your arm
long pale delicate fingers
on your navy blue suit
taller than you tend to like
your hand pressed lightly against her back.
This time around it is your turn
for the clipped-winged lechuza
with the snowy white countenance
to alight on your shoulder
she defers to you
grips you with her fingers and heart and fears
lays claim to you like I never did
my hand slipped lightly in the crook of your arm
a pedestal on which I rested
preened
then flew away.