SevilleI am turning into somebody else —
somebody who makes marmalade.

Somebody who rolls a cool thick seville
against her cheek
breathing in the smell of Spain
in the dusk of Devon.

Somebody who cuts thin peel
skimming golden froth
from amber
in a January kitchen.

When did this happen?
Watching the teaspoon for the set,
boiling the jars,
writing tidy labels.

I should be wearing
a white dress
gazing up through blossom
at a Spanish blue sky

biting into olive flesh,
and running my fingers
along red walls
warm with secrets

instead of lining up
nine jars of sun.

First published in Exclamat!on Volume 1, Number 1 June 2017, Exeter University, also in The Guardian February 2020 and Moor Poets Volume IV