Katie Kingston

A Labyrinth of Moons

Carnival moon trails me home through the alleys
of Granada, unflinch­ing stare, peppercorn
light. Radiance taps the fig trees as they blossom
above the soft bleat­ing of goats. This caramel
moon with cin­na­mon charm, the one children
call temp­ta­tion, because it smells like warm
milk with hon­ey. Even the bur­ros lick their lips
and wait for it to fall as it clings to branches,
refus­es to ripen. Sendero moon trails fireflies
and gyp­sy moths through a sky criss­crossed by bats,
a cliché galleon pass­ing sailors with its sails
on fire. Another ris­es through a cor­nu­copia of stars
like a red bal­loon above the Sierra. Children clap
their hands to wel­come its shiny cheeks full of chocolate
and pen­cils. Piñata moon floats the Andalucía
sky along­side the Flamenco moon, her yel­low skirt
lift­ed, her fin­gers blink­ing cas­tanet light. Caustic
moon scorch­es the Alhambra dark after the guards
have left. Its mus­cu­lar jaw bul­lies the stars into pin pricks,
sends tourists down the alley toward the lights
of La Plaza Nueva. Its gold-coin sphere keeps rich men
on their knees. Its sour lemon face keeps children
fog­ging win­dows with their sug­ar breath.