A Gypsy Cave Home
Granada, Remastered
And that she nurs'd him in a Cave
— “Love,” William Wordsworth
It’s the Gypsy cave
house in Sacromonte that calls me
back five months later, through a gaping
crack in the walls of this grieving heart, a memory
of ducking my head
to get in the blue doorway, instantly
at home in that cavern dug into the clay-
quartzite-chrysolite cliff, testaments all around
of picks and shovels
in the whitewashed walls, our heads
bent as in prayer under low ceilings, sweat
dripping down my back as I conjured incantations
of gratitude for a savory soup
I imagined bubbling in a cast iron pot,
onions carrots pumpkin green beans tomatoes
pears seasoned with saffron, smoked paprika, fresh mint
wafting out the door,
carried off on a soft brisa
over reddish-brown tiled roofs to the imposing
Alhambra across a green valley, sorrowful pilgrims
In the breathtaking nave,
necks bent back, eyes skyward
toward the stained-glass light seeking
forgiveness for sins they have not committed, shadows
cast on silent worshippers
in pews pleading for mercy, pleading
for safety, pleading for love, for peace of mind,
for heaven on earth, please please please Daddy …
please forgive me! please
please please Mommy … take me away
in your arms, carry me down the hill, carry me up
the narrow, cobbled streets, carry me into that grotto
dug into the broken heart
of a mountain where forgiveness is
always understood, not bestowed, where love
is never earned, never denied, mercy etched into
the milky walls, a man
at the door with a pick, woman
unbuttoning a floral cotton dress, infant
at her breast, sacred refuge for our unrelenting ache.
—SL, Port Royal, SC, March 2024
Love those images! Miky and I traveled extensively in Spain and Portugal in a vw Westfalia camper. Your poems bring back so many wonderful memories and of course, I hear the grief throughout. Thank you for opening a window to us and for continuing to write.