i find myself on the bench often

in front of me

bitter orange trees

behind me as well

a bike share service stop sits in front of me

there is a playground

sometimes there are lots of little kids

so full of joy

i write on this bench

becuase it’s close to where I stay

there is a little kiosk

selling papers and snacks

with residential buildings around

with shops

and quaint bars

where people seem to waste away

peacefully

sipping brandy or beer

smoking

without a care

there are no clouds today

just dark blue

and bright yellow orange

the ground here

is tiled concrete

the cracks full

with sunflower seed husks

another ode to that culture

of enjoyment so palpable in Spain

this has been my home in a way

but it feels like

it probably will always feel like home

there is a community here

the people talk

i feel alone

isolated from them

not by language

but by the very framework

on which my world was built

still

i feel their community

as if it were mine

their chatter and gossip

comforting reminders

their mannerisms

an escape

they aren’t rich here

and they won’t be

but they live

really live

to live

this is a rambling mess

but i think

that description is apt for me