Cristina Navazo-Eguía Newton

  Hondo First the gole flew solo – a palo seco – , before the bailaores’ feet flamed the ground that fettered them, (and gold bled), before they turned like caged Punjabi tigers, hand-speaking to the heavens. Only the gole went through bars, through locks, able-bodied as the wind, face to face with Undivé. Before the string machinery of guitars, came drawers, baskets, washing boards, … Continue reading Cristina Navazo-Eguía Newton