Lines of Memory

by Theo Lewis

Music by David Julyan.

Years ago
we were in France.
One day we
took the car to
Spain, over
the Pyrenees.
The border
was high in the
mountains. We
stopped to look at
the scene, and
memorials
up there in
the mountains to
those who died
in the civil
war. On the
road was the sign
to mark the
border, simple
metal to
distinguish one
nation from
another, one
culture from
another so
different,
and all the dreams
of people
on either side,
crossing their
own borderlines
daily, not
speaking of it,
but dreaming
all the same.
I don’t recall
much of the
experience,
apart from
perhaps the chill
wind up there
in the mountains,
the thin road
disappearing
into Spain,
the faces of
the people
locked up in the
pictures of
memorial,
lost in a
limbo between
two countries,
and the strange crisps
that we bought
later in the
day, crisps that
you cannot find
outside the
borders of Spain.