For This Breath
A turquoise Spanish sky and a fortaleza,
leaning in ruin, ever guarding the sea.
No enemy to be seen but time.
Sixteen and beautiful, the boy
races, tugs, mouth an open laugh,
eyes dark yet bright with mischief.
Against the breezy spray, strides sure, owning.
His casa. His country. His castle,
crumbled though it stands.
Today, this waste is mine, too. I am conquered.
The caw of gulls, the flutter of my heart.
Hours but a measure of the breaths we share
on this gritty white sand washing from beneath chilled toes.
The boy spiders a wind-smoothed wall.
He is brave and limber, a king in his own right,
for he has taken the hill, the fortaleza, the girl.
“Venga! Sube,” his Castellano command.
Then I am at his side. Wondering,
Am I his queen?
For this breath, I am anything I wish to be.
The boy and I, we stand upon the wreckage,
and we claim the land and sea.
We lie upon the rampart, tacky fingers entwined,
and tuck the turquoise into our pockets.
It is ours.
Salt on my tongue, skirt rippling about my knees,
I tell the boy, “El tiempo es nuestro.”
He hoists a kingly grin. I am his queen.
I inhale pungent air, hold it close, owning.
Time, too, will be ours.
I exhale and blow out forty candles.
