she noted that it’s good to keep a diary,

with the respectful, distanced tone of not having read over my shoulder.


our bus, rolling through basque country-

verdant undulating hills, sheep, gardens and the occasional

shirtless old man with a hoe.

we were heading south from the coast.


she said she didn’t understand poetry in any language.

she said her favorite verb in english is hesitate

three articulate syllables, pronounced with dreamy admiration.



‘it’s raining cats and dogs’

‘a man who wears many hats’


and goodbye- her name spit out quickly,


‘it’s similar to the word for snow’


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