Learning the laws of the land

The granulated salt on my thighs

was again dissolving slowly as

my wet hair dripped half pinned

under a triangled scarf. I was sitting

on a big, flat rock waiting for a bus

to take me back down the winding road.

My eyes or mind was still recalling and reflecting the bright, turquoise blue water

in which my body twirled freely all day.

On the rocks and cliffs around it

wild goats roamed looking for an opportunity to hunt down a human

made lunch. One managed to eat mine

as I floated just meters away.

Quite a scene: can you scare her off?

I screamed to a girl who was apparently

too transfixed and speechless, simply

observing the animal helping herself

to my snack she skillfully retrieved from

my tied tote bag. I emerged

from the water, topless, barefoot,

struggling to walk quickly on the stone

lined sea bottom, clapping

and chanting “go away, go away!”

She ate your cheese, said the girl coming

out of the trans. I smiled as if appreciating

her insight and as I threw the remnants of the dairy product under the hooves of the herd that gathered around — my offering

on the altar of the Mallorcan ground —

learning the laws of the land is

a vulnerable process. The bus arrived.