Cortadura

 Rebecca W Morris and Matteo Delred

A writer and a photographer capture thoughts and images at each stop of the Cádiz Cercanias Renfe trainline

We were limp anaemic shrimps 

Buried deep in the ocean’s bed. 

These days we begin to crawl to shore 

On delicate sea legs. 

We arrived at Cortadura 

And the sea roared over our heads. 

People clustered around like crabs 

On the rocks at Valdelagrana 

Picking the algae and supping the salt 

Confident and full-bodied in the tumult. 

We retreat to the rocks - 

He makes primitive stone sculptures. 

I take breaths with the ocean 

My heart thudding inside its foamy breast. 

Before we arrived we took our usual detour 

Running across a motorway - 

Niños gamberos playing chicken. 

We went for breakfast beside a large funeral parlour 

The bar had a huge mirror behind it. 

Written on it was: 

CELEBRATIONS 

WEDDINGS 

BAPTISMS 

COMMUNIONS 

COMPANY DINNERS 

In Castellano. 

I knew the function that was not listed 

Was staring us in the face -  

The building across the road. 

In Spain, funerals happen almost overnight 

The grieving process, the other way around - 

The sharp shock of loss experienced together.