Mark Young

MY HANDS HAD FORGOTTEN LORCA

Though my body was full of him, for I
had spent part of last Saturday discussing
his poetry with a Chilean sailor, my hands
had forgotten Lorca.

                                  Until tonight, when,
glancing through an anthology,
I came across a poem of his, called Córdoba.

And, opening an atlas to search
for this city, realised as I ran
my fingers over the map of Spain

that I was stroking Lorca’s face.
 

© Mark Young

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Last updated 10 March, 2004