Rioja
by Sarah J. Sloat

The café distills more noir
than the moistening rose of fog
I tortured between my teeth, smiling
in the bouncer’s lamplight.
Cherry, cocoa and oak. I spill
across the leather carcass of the bar.
I remember sun on my shoulders
in the village where the bull was slain.
Tonight may leave me just this
cicatrix of lipstick on my wineglass.
My heart is the shape of Spain.

Sarah J. Sloat grew up in New Jersey, and after university lived in China, Kansas and Italy. For many years, she’s lived in Germany, where she’s an editor for a news agency. Sarah’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Barn Owl Review, Caffeine Destiny, Court Green, Bateau and Front Porch, among other publications.

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