Yesterday was one of those typical days of English summer: blue skies and sunshine, sparkling drizzle, brief torrential rain and blustery gusts of wind. I dressed appropriately – sleeveless blouse and sunglasses, but also a scarf – and carried an umbrella – not just a little fold-up one tucked in my handbag, but a full size golfing umbrella, which was needed before I’d got to the end of the street.
It was the sort of day when the sky should have been full of rainbows, but even walking across the park, where I had a clear view in all directions, I didn’t see any.
At least, I didn’t see any up in the sky but, crossing the carpark, I looked down and found this at my feet:
Anyway, as well as a rainbow that was not a rainbow, I found orange blossom that was not orange blossom.
And that gives me an excuse to post this poem, although the orange blossom featured is true azahar, not the celinda or falso naranjo of the photo.
So many kisses left
on the station steps. “Un beso
y te dejo.” Kisses scattered en la boca
del metro. “Te amo.” “Te llamo.” Phones
snap shut and heels trip down
to waiting platforms. There’s no
signal in the underground, no
tunnel-of-love buried, burrowing
underneath the city; only the stop-start
of red lights.
Emerging into sunshine,
the scent of azahar, the thrill and trill
of missed messages.
Incidentally, someone once asked why I spelled “disconnexion” with an “x”. There are at least three reasons: firstly, many years ago, I was taught that this was the etymologically correct spelling; secondly, given the setting of the poem, I was influenced by the Spanish, which would be desconexión; and thirdly, that “x” is just one more of those random kisses.
Finally, a reminder that today only, my book Poems from the pueblo. Haiku and assorted framents can be downloaded free from Amazon. You still have until Wednesday to download another two of my books for writers. All of them can be found via my Amazon author’s page.