18. Sangria & Dancing in the Streets

Sangria

Oh Sangria

You red-lipped beauty

Bursting with orange and spice

And lemon and something else

I don't recognize.

You fill my cheeks with a ruddy, happy blush

And give the street a squinty luminous glow.

What is that in you?

A little wine? Some ice?

Orange rings? Vermouth?

What's that? More wine?

Seltzer?

And then what?

What is that bottle she pulls from behind the counter

And slyly slips into the mix?

It must be the Blessed Sacrament.

It must be.

Because you taste sweet

And feel holy on my throat

And after just two glasses

You make me speak in tongues!

~ Cheryl Murfin, in Burgos on the Camino de Santiago

Dancing with Joe

A Sunday in October we take a rest

To find the streets and passages are bustling

With slow old men in tweedy coats

And twittering old women in bulky sweaters

Filling in the gaps in front of them

The path is strewn with kids on scooters

Love-struck teens kissing under leafless trees

Two mothers rolling strollers side by side

Somewhere in the middle of it all

A jazzy, swing tune filters through the air

Pulling all eyes and ears in its direction

And toward a flurry of young swing dancers

Jitterbugging through the passage

Smiling, swaying, kicking up their skirts

A winking young woman pulls an old man to his feet

He, in turn, pulls in his belly, leans his ear to the tune,

Then sure-footed as Gene Kelley swings her round the park.

I watch all this from my own bench

With the distance of a foreigner

Itching to join but afraid to look foolish

Returning instead to my book

The title of which I have no recollection

Letting the moment go on without me

But the moment has other plans

He taps me on the shoulder,

Ropes my aching waste with one arm

Slips his palm in mine

Guides me beyond my own clumsy steps

And reminds me why I love him

~ Cheryl Murfijn, in Burgos on the Camino de Santiago