Poetry…is you.
—Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

The tour guide points to an invisible bullfighting ring
to the left, to ships buried under Barbary Coast streets

but I keep looking for you, misplaced somewhere.
Among the tourists, the bums, the fair workers

dismantling makeshift booths, my ears prick up from
steel frames clanging. I think I hear you calling out

to me—me, who wanted to unravel when you wrapped
your scarf around my neck, bandaged a finger cut so deep

it became a gill. I talk to you of waltzes, of whales,
of anything in between and still you do not respond.

I unfold strangers’ notes, try to make out their meaning
standing before Bécquer’s love-lettered tomb.

©

Born in Hong Kong and raised in Manila and San Francisco, Christina Lloyd holds a master’s in Hispanic languages and literatures from UC Berkeley, and a master’s in creative writing from Lancaster University. Her work appears in various journals, including Poetry Ireland, The Frogmore Papers, The North, Poetry Daily and most recently in Poet Lore. She is a PhD candidate at Lancaster University under Eoghan Walls’ supervision.