Contigo en Malaga
Thursday, January 28th, 2010We are resuming, without meaning to, in a state of deep sleep, despite have fought the revolution side by side, we sleep, and this is how we resume. We are resuming to become the ones who keep resuming, and the repetition becomes the only proof of its necessity. We can’t look too close at the logic of the rose in vinegar, because it might remind us that we do not have to resume. In the rock and roll song of the idiots we were singing in our sleep, unencumbered by the force of thought or the ability for distraction, and this is the moment when I want to wake you up, but instead see you next to me, waiting for my eyes to open, because you wanted the same thing long before I did.
I would meet you there, to talk about the importance of roses, and the necessity of your skirts, and the way Sabina once reminded us that we were awake more often than the others. Malaga was a place to begin, and in the south of Spain, there are always so many things that end. I would meet you there, to remember how the mad dancers were the only ones who could get away when the tide turned and people began to talk about their own brothers behind their backs. I would meet you in Malaga to hear Sabina sing about you, even though it would make me jealous all over.
When we were awake, and eating the apple more than two times a week, this was a place where we could get away from the shame of our fathers. There was one night with a locked car, a broken necklace, and the sounds of your rain on my neck. Sabina in Malaga might remind me of the things that broke, and teach us how we might begin to put them back together.
