There is the wooden bench, the anodyne where
my happiness rests. Where she relaxes under Spain’s
champagne colored moon, a lucent gibbous vying for
attention, looking onto a green montaña,
a casement speckled with blue-pink glints of crimson light.
Where she hears niñas playing, the empyrean echoes of
gadding giggles, and observes parents dance under virid
umbrage, a slow, passionate hold. Where their sorrel basque
shepard and brindle shih tzu vacillate, to chase or rest,
and a coterie of yellow bees buzz as ants sough inside karsts
of invisible vughs, thudding to the gracile sounds of red
hummingbirds, their stomps, their Andalusian cries.
Where the stray Tabby meows, an accented hiss, the ardillas
rojas, their mudded feet daubing the community’s only aspens,
and the white-bellied culvers ignore. Where she lays her head
back, the chalcedony mass floating, eyes focused, wings
outspread, the peaceful strokes along a rubicund underbelly.
Where she finally calms, breathing in—the olor of freshly cut
grass and amber, the ebullient cadences of la paz negro de
medianoche, the resonance of midnight’s black peace.
An instant asseveration, she knows that this is in fact the minute
—a quiescent momento that Mary made especially for her
and she will remember this, for it is hers as she rests
on that bench there.
Jasmine Silver can be found in Anon, Flutter and Barely South Review. For any further information, feel free to email: [email protected]. She is a wandering poet. The empress of her heart painting words, exposing passion, constructing thoughts, a budding lyricist. Jasmine lives, however, only to write, drifting through nature’s circadian seasons, the puppet of cerulean peace. Her work has been published in a few reviews, journals and online venues.