A Coruña
Steep,
Steep,
Such steep sites to show you;
I hate that steepness and loathe it - with love.
For I love your city;
This hate’s not for you.
Those hills,
They trigger darkness and fear,
Such close fears of my own body,
A body that betrayed its owner.
It found the strength to fly -
I’m not sure from where.
Fearing security checks, and beeps,
Dreading the search when I beep from new holes,
Showing scars and clips.
But there was more to this.
Losing my power, unable to find words -
Regardless of language.
Going abroad, to a city of Others -
Other brands, Other words, Other language -
It brought such fear.
I found shelter in you.
(Except those fucking hills.)
You were bright, when my world had been dark;
You were warm when my world had been cold.
You’ve become another home,
A hope and a dream that I revisit,
In real-life and in sleep.
I look at your property,
Wondering if we could afford to
Move away from those memories,
Those scans and those scars.
I return for a reason.
Because, instead of those hills, I love that sea.
That water, that beach to one side
Those docks to another.
I love the tapas,
Those tourist trap-shops, tempting the cruisers
Who walk the city, never seeing you
Like we do.
The food,
The beers,
The company.
Those chats.
Those stupid talks and plans.
The creative laughs and the honest sighs of sadness.
We have created our narrative
Our fake history of your city;
Bowie’s time-travel, ruling the city with iron hands,
Creator and hero when needed, looking down on all
Atop his steep, steep hill.
We talk such bullshit; we are artists of the same.
We eat and we drink,
The octopus still squirming
As if alive; the Estrella cooling our tongues.
It was St. Patrick’s Day, and two glasses had gotten me drunk.
(Glasses, not pints!)
Giddy with glee and friends,
Never wanting to leave.
The fears, caused by this stupid brain,
Went away.
Even the fears of such steep hills eased.
I no longer fear falling,
Taking those brave steps
Only to tumble and decline,
Falling for what feels like miles.
Now, I know a city that will catch me
Of friends, of family,
Of brands and shops,
Of bars and restaurants that I will return to.
Over and over again.
I will brave those steep hills
Because I know where is food at the top,
An apartment over a library that feels like home.
There are Bullshit Artists
(With capital letters)
Bringing happiness and joy to each other.
You are our friends.
You are our family.
You are our city.
And we love you.
(Just not those steep fucking hills.)