When they told me that the doctor was shot on the esplanade by the cemetery without saying anything, I didn’t know how far that information was going to be definitive for me.
Today when I hear the shout, “Viva España” I cringe because I can feel the wings of the bullet.
I’ve been reading a little book of prose poems in Asturianu and Castellano- La Bona Intención (Impronta, Xixón, 2012). I took it out of the library but I have to get my hands on a copy. In my unusual Christmas I watched a documentary about the film that Francisco Franco wrote the script for- Raza- and I have a sea of questions about the aesthetics of power. These prose poems are tough little flowers that take a lot of reading and re-reading.
I have to get hold of that book.