Lunch in Cantabria – Writers House Review

Eliza Rosenthale

On the way there
We talk with our hands and our eyes
In the back seat
So hungry we are manic
Mini van swaying through blue mountains
Some dizzyingly close
Some so far they look like tissue paper
In the lavender sky

The meal
Is in a town made entirely of ancient stone
And they serve ancient stew
Beans and blood sausage
Seafood in sour red broth
Clam shells clanking in harmony
With our coos of gratitude
Cinnamon-infused pork loin
Softer than the apple compote
Papas fritas soak up sweet juices
Muchos gracias, gracias, gracias

On the way home
All heads turned out windows
Tryptophan dreams
Mountains swelling into sky
Now deep purple
Drifting off to the hum
Of Jack Johnson’s acoustic guitar
Trusting the mountains to carry us home

Eliza Rosenthale is a senior studying Comparative Literature, Economics, and Creative Writing. She was born in Hopewell, NJ, and she is grateful for the beautiful NJ native wildlife in her hometown.