tell me if this is all true

in spain

These points are fixed
against terrain.
Fragment. Ornament.

Write evolution on a sheet
of paper.  Thin, pale
as a robin’s egg.  Say
it’s all inevitable:

The laundered dresses fluttering
on lines. The window shedding
its paint. Sugar dissolving

in a glass of water.  Place three fingers
against my collarbone.  Breathe.
Tell me again how you lost
the red notebook twice
in other countries.  The passage
about the girl in the alley.

How she tasted like a rainstorm,
all dampness and electricity.
I forget the oranges
and the blue tattoo.

Always the tattoo.

Kristy Bowen