I go blind from then I go
here now so into Franco-free light
where I don’t know
how to turn my eyes,
spent scars of second skin,
years of no and fury,
now the clean air breaking in
to be real in this to breathe it
all in and then to die in Madrid.
Tempt it not—I surely do not
Not too. No Franco and his cops
Nor his tiny stamps, unwritten laws
And truncheons at the ready.

I did not come here to die
but to be home here
where I can get lost again free
in a landscape of
words drifting oh words!
Hombre que te pasa
la Republica Zaragoza libertad.

Find the bridge, the path,
to cross over to some-
where the verdict words cannot.
Qué bonitas son
Son las flores
No, not just pretty. Knot not.

When I go blind,
“good I cannot see them”
(as the words once were cords
even to touch their fury)
The pain of sound.
Clackety clack.
Let the air out
of this flat tire.

I’m breaking in
to be real again—
the Guadarrama mountain range
splendid low about the horizon
white-scarred muses
women scarring Fascism.
Late afternoon glory with them in Madrid.
The air so pure it stings to settle.

—Linda E. Chown ©2018

4 thoughts on “Coming Back: Franco not here no more, 1988

  1. Whether intentional on your part or not, this strikes me as the next part of the story, in a way, from the previous poem, “What they said.” We now have someone who had fled from Franco returning after his death. It again “lives” in the personal, intimate space of the poem’s speaker. Such a lovely pair of poems, moving to read together.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you. This poem is a song of praise for Madrid, for Spain without Franco, for women who could speak a pure language and scar the mountains which had before perhaps encircled them.
      I think yes that it is the next part of the story. And although I left Spain by choice, I felt at the time of that poem, as I do now, that it is time to return to Spain and its language, its food, its energy, its truthfulness.

      Liked by 3 people

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