ON CONFESSING I’D RATHER BE ALONE ON A BEACH IN SPAIN READING LORCA

I think it might finally
be a problem for us,
the fact that I prefer
to be alone most of the time,
that I have no problem
replying to that
MindMyHouse.com listing
in Malaga, Spain to care for
Tito the elderly
tortoise-haired cat
and the seaside condo.
I’ll use air miles and hire a driver
once I’m on the other side
of the globe where my pronouns—
she, her, hers—have new meaning
by the fact of my going, my being
there on the beach alone,
reading Lorca, wondering
where his body might be,
beholden to nothing and no one
(not you, not teens)
except Tito and the Spanish sun.

Kristi Helgeson is a writer who cannot eat raw onions, is no longer afraid of spiders, and once single-handedly managed a rural horse ranch with no prior experience (yes, they all survived). Now a city mouse, she often writes about her life as a country mouse who, in 2007, happened to stowaway on 19 flight segments and circumnavigate the globe. She lives in Seattle with her family, who tolerates her. Her most recent work is forthcoming in Pidgeonholes.