She’s in Andalucia, clapping her hands
and stomping her feet in percussive music,
what a delight, more on her side than on
the side of the audience, for it’s her thing,
to dance the flamenco, and the audience
disappears as she goes through the difficult
motions, Spanish blood courses through
her veins, ages ago, her ancestors must
have forgotten, when the conquistadors
entered the Camarines, there must have
been fusion of both races, the shy Bikolana
and the handsome marine from the galleon
in Ragay gulf, there must be some connection,
for it’s in her blood, flamenco, twirling, stomping,
hands twisting in perfect harmony, that’s her
life, too, in harmony with self and nature,
music, dance and life, they’re all the same
to her, the audience disappears as she dances
the flamenco, beautiful lady in red and black.

Happy birthday, Tess!