What I Said to Picasso by Dale Patterson

Guernica, by Pablo Picasso, 1937.

What I Said to Picasso

Sheep grazed the hillsides
between Biscay and the Pyrenees.
Their wool after lambing,
shorn innocent white,
warmed in Basque sun.

At the baserri we made Idiazaba,
split beechwood and hawthorn,
smoked rinds until amber.

Monday.
I wore my black dress,
cream colored stockings
and ribbon laced sandals.

The men in berets spoke Euskara,
waved swords of resistance
at Franco and fascists.

Our blanket was spread in the street.
The neighbouring vendor sold
Bruschetta and codfish, sagardo
he dipped from a barrel.
We offered our cheese
with dabs of quince jam.

My eyes raised to the sky
as the bells started ringing
at Santa Maria. Birds soared, rigid wings
dipped in formation.

I imagined how small I must look
from their view, then heard

whistles that showered like hail.
They made the afternoon
shadows explode.

One woman bent to the ground,
the white horse screamed at the light.

Dale Patterson

Dale Patterson is a visual artist and poet living in Indiana. His work has been published in many online and print journals; the most recent have appeared in: Pilgrimage, The Tower Journal, The Museum of Americana, The Lake, Short Fast and Deadly and Midwestern Gothic. A more complete listing of Dale’s work can be seen on his website http://dalepattersonart.com/