I once wrote and believed
that Madrid was the Paris
until I stepped foot in
where the pavement is a collection of
Ice cream scoops are served in glass
goblets and coat my fingertips in
in a jar
on the table of a café overlooking
And it starts to drizzle.
I stomp in storm puddles,
dance in the plains
(where it mainly rains in Spain.)
The sun isn’t out and
it’s far too cold but
A city bathed in silver.
I snack on
star shaped marzipan
staring at the palm trees,
that tickle sunbeams
which shine into the water.
Dazzle stone walls and brick walkways,
give a dandelion the light to grow,
create melancholy masterpieces and lonely frescos
that become caught in thunderstorms.
But the sun always clears and I find myself in
an orange grove.
Have you ever stood in an orange
The air is citrus flavored and
the world is tinted
maybe a bumblebee
will buzz by me.
Sing a song in my ear like it’s playing
a tiny flute.
Maybe the bee will take a paintbrush
and decorate the pumpkin sky with
for a place you stood in for a
mere five minutes?
I am eternally nostalgic
for constellations and
arched doorways crowned with bougainvillea.
For cats that perch on rooftops
overlooking Spanish cities
and ponds fenced in with topiary,
standing against faded brick walls.
with the city of Seville.
paired with bursts of winter air
travelling alongside olives and
glasses of red wine.
Tender octopus and cuttlefish croquettes
resting on my tongue.
like the pond in the corner of a palace,
a few hundred handfuls of herbs.
under lavender skies
and pretend the world was simpler.
A dash of saffron.
Shelby Edison is a writer and student at the High School for the Performing and Visual Arts in Houston, Texas. Her poetry has previously been published in Teen Ink. When she is not writing, she can be found with her nose stuck in a piece of classic literature.