My Granada students want to know why I moved to Spain by Becky May

My Granada students want to know why I moved to Spain

The question I´m asked most often & I give the simple answer - because of Katie,

a girl I met on a bus in Bolivia. We got chatting, I say and found a place to stay.

I leave out the lakeside town, the viewpoint we climbed to,

the restaurant below, its pan-fried trout,

fluffed quinoa, local wine.

I´d just done a three-day trek, I add, but let her persuade me to go on another hike.

Our market provisions -  crusty marraquetas, bananas, cashews,

 passing lively corn fields, placid sheep, the click of a bike,

a schoolboy late for class - pausing to talk to us,

his alpaca-wool hat pulled over his eyes.

I explain she´d left a stressful job to teach English, that she said I should too.

The gap-toothed boatman, his smile steering us, the wake of his white keel,  

rocks to clamber, a hard-to-navigate ridge. The other side of the island,

 a commotion of houses offering beds, lions on the blankets,

a ten-year-old girl to check us in,

her pencil on the clipboard.

Afterwards, we stayed in touch on Facebook, shared travel tales.  

A press of Reggaeton bodies at Domino´s Megadisco,

the bubblegum taste of Inca-Kola, a Peruvian boy

 I met enroute to Cusco, the ceviche he made,

its curled prawns, their lime tang.

I quit my job and retrained. When Katie moved to Granada & loved it there, she 

offered me her sofa for the first week, help to find work.

The reservoir at Quéntar, her hand beckoning me to swim its width,

a Spaniard bent over his flamenco guitar,

las buleriás accompanying us back. 

I end with a flourish, smile, say the rest is history.

Becky May is a Manchester-based poet. Her work has been published in various journals, including PN Review, 14 Magazine & Ink, Sweat & Tears, amongst others. She can be found on social media @beckymaywriter