A Memory of Saudade


A Memory of Saudade


Early June, the streets of Seville are vacant in the choking heat.

Sitting outside a bar, I watch the waiter stack chairs and tables.

A sign, reading cheap montaditos, stands curbside like a tired pedestrian,

Advertising little reprieve for the dreams we always mistreat.


During siesta, summer sneaks in like a good-humored soiree.

Walking down by the river, I take a picture every now and then.

A few snapshots, recreating your journey, establish a sense of belonging.

How I had hoped romance would simply guide the way.


In Granada, rain falls lightly on the red fortress above.

Looking out across the gardens, I sense the morriña we share in silence.

A cool mist, calming the tourists, descends softly like an Alpine Swift.

Still the roses and carnations glow as if in love.


Closing time, a charming singer buys shots all around.

Holding on to our mojitos, we scan the comic-strip wallpaper.

Realizing how a simple moment, like a prelude to a kiss, is sipped away,

I invite conversation to drown out the guitar's lonely sound.

Still I hear a song that I can sing if you should leave.


Discovering Madrid, we adapt to the bustling haste.

Asking for souvenirs and pictures at the plaza,

Not a single gift could be misplaced.

Irresolute as we seem at the boarding gate,

Even the most quixotic of us may shed a tear.

Leaving this second home behind, an adulation almost innate,

So too do I forsake the secrecy kept out of fear.


Knowing of 15-M and the same old political game,

Now we absolve the Spanish romance, a fictional nonesuch.

Only leaving with memories will let love sustain.

Whether our worlds converge in Babel or a tender touch,

Somehow we will rejoice for the dream that is Spain.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741