Tag Archives: Geraldine Green Linden trees do grow in Spain

Geraldine Green: Two Poems

Geraldine Green’s first two collections The Skin (2003) and Passio (2006) were both published by Flarestack Publishing. She has read and been published in the United Kingdom, the United States, Italy and Greece. Her poetry has been translated into German and Romanian. Currently undertaking a PhD in Creative Writing Poetry, Geraldine teaches Creative Writing. She’s an associate editor of Poetry Bay and has just completed her third collection, The Other Side of the Bridge. She lives in Cumbria.
Linden trees do grow in Spain
She mentioned this to him
several times that day
in the grounds of the
Palace del Alhambra
its tiles hot underfoot
the day she noticed
the way his hair curled
the way bees filled the throat
of the courtyard
a thousand monks chanting
a thousand mantras
announcing morning.
She remembered his kiss
on the nape of her neck
the sting of it, the subtle,
sweet venom of his lips.
Last night candlelight
crimped the edge
of their table –
its plainsong of linen
its burnished cuticles
of lip-marked glass.
They’d held hands
worn the wrong shoes
stumbled down a track
sown with moonlight
milk-blue as cooling iron.
Cases already packed
their tickets pressed inside
a book of photographs
showed the Alhambra
showed the linden trees
escaping down slopes
where dawn would wake them.
Next year they’ll untangle
the sound of bees
find their steps
between fountains
taste the lost tremor
of their lips
the untamed hours
Last night the bobcat
I woke
wanting a piss
an owl hooted
once or twice
by our window.
I went out back
behind the rock
where the bobcat
first saw me
Look at that!
You said, awake too
almost making me
jump out my skin.
Describe it me, I said
back in bed wrapped
in covers and your body
nuzzling your neck.
Describe it me.
Small head, neat ears
fierce looking eyes
body slender, tail thick
haunches taut
ready to spring.