AFTER BARCELONA

a poem by Carl Boon

After Barcelona, after Masses
at Santa Maria’s and the boys

whopeeled oranges
on thecathedral steps,

shecame home to find
herfather hadn’t changed at all—

sameblue pajamas, same head twisting 
atthe President’s speeches.

Nothinghad changed,
except,perhaps, for her, who’d discovered

difference—ashield of hymns,

theGospel sellers 

onRobador where girls twined

orangestems into silk.

She’dgotten used to
themystery of rising, life

indeath, the sapphire

Mediterraneanat Sitges in the morning.

Herfather read the news,
stirredlemon in his tea,

andwould not move
whenshe said the earth was moving

fast,away from him, and that perhaps

his God was not enough.

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