Without Language in Córdoba

Tell me,

without language,

about the time you crossed the

Roman Bridge

and watched the sun

rise over the city

from the

Torre de la Calahorra.

Say how the oranges and pinks of the madrugada

hit your chest

made you cry

made you mute,

beyond language.

The man who

invited you

to break

fast

four times

be

fore

you accepted

was experienced in the life

beyond language.

He’d seen the sun rise

here

before

and he knew that you needed toast and hot

chocolate: your

system read the

language

of DNA

and digested this soulfood

as you sat across

from this man in the café and listened

to Canadian

tourists wondering about the

“Mosque”

and the

“Palace of the Christian Kings.”

“Can you se that tower? That was

a minaret, and we might

this very minute

be hearing

the call to prayer

sung from there, if

we were living

1000 years ago,”

you said

in a language

they knew

– they were

impressed.

The man who

treated you

to breakfast

told you in the

language

of his body that

he had an appointment

he must keep now.

The morning light set his hair

aflame

as he walked down the blue street.

Language

failed you, and you

could only describe

the morning as

“burning” in

your notebook,

where you tried

to use

language

symbols

to convey the

solitude

of the sunrise on the bridge.

You tried to use black markings

to show the colors

of joy in the sun’s possession

of the sky.

Tell me about this

without language.

This poem is part of the collection Dusk Before Dawn: Poems. More info: https://www.jessicaknauss.com/dusk-before-dawn-poems/