Poem by Michael Spring

GUITARRA PORTUGUESA



 

in the cafe
Paredes held the Portuguese
guitar -- walnut wood -- the body
of Lisbon -- with twelve strings
his fingers emulated rain

across the room a woman began
dancing --
the fingerpicking and figueto
described her movements --
the underwater sway
of sea grass --
I was submerged

her figure haunted every glass
of water or wine

her shadow drifted through the welter
of candlelight
on the adobe walls

after the final chord
floated across the room
and Peredes put his guitar down

I breathed in deeply
the steam of baked salmon
buttery spinach and garlic bread--
the music had entered everything

I placed a grape between my teeth
tasted the dark surge of juices

when I realized I could no longer see
the dancer
I wondered if she had disappeared
inside of me

§ § §

Michael Spring is the co-editor of Riven Poetry Journal. His own poems have been published in over 200 national and international publications, most recently in: Atlanta Review, Poems Niederngasse, sidereality, Midwest Quarterly, Verse Libre Quarterly, Pedestal Magazine, Pierian Springs, Stirring, Sulphur River Literary Review, among others.

His first full-length book of poetry, "blue crow," was just published by Lit Pot Press, Inc. in August 2003 as part of the Literary Potpourri Poetry series.

Michael currently works in Corvallis, Oregon, where he assists mentally and physically disabled adults.

You can reach him at Bluecrow04@cs.com .

Send the URL for this work to a friend!