Poems From The Kitchen Table

A Geography of the Soul

Some journeys teach us more about ourselves than years of reflection ever could. This poem was born in Spain, but it was also born in me, as I wandered narrow streets, lost myself among balconies of red carnations, and recognized parts of my soul in quiet villages layered with history and blended cultures.

I came to understand the quiet beauty of things not easily seen.

The kind of beauty that asks to be walked slowly, not rushed.

The kind of beauty you only find when you’re willing to truly look.

This poem is a love letter to those corners of the world

and of the soul, that exist off the map.

To the long roads that are worth the drive.

To the cultural roots that live inside me.

And to those moments when we have to go far… to come closer to who we really are.

Thank you for reading me.

Thank you for walking with me.

– Valentina

☕✨

---

I Am Like a Hidden Village: A Geography of the Soul

I had to go to Spain

to understand

that I am like one of those hidden villages,

full of stories

and balconies dressed in flowers that speak without words.

I am like those ancient towns,

with stone castles

and narrow alleys where Judaism, Catholicism, and Islam

once coexisted in peace

when faith wasn’t a border

but a bridge.

I am like those harbors

where the most beautiful sailboats drop anchor,

not to settle,

but to marvel

at something different,

something unique,

something unrepeatable.

I am like those winding streets

that surprise you with the best gelato in the world.

And if you don’t pay attention,

you’ll get lost among weathered walls

painted with history,

color,

and a feeling too deep for words.

I am also like those sacred churches

I visited in silence

where stained glass filtered the light,

the air smelled of ancient incense,

and forgiveness lingered in the air

like a quiet prayer.

Where stories didn’t shout,

but healed.

I am like that corner in Córdoba,

where the university of philosophy and letters

sits among whitewashed walls with yellow trim,

and balconies blooming with red carnations.

Where tiny dogs stroll peacefully beside loving owners,

and local shops offer

daily treasures.

But I am also the long road

that takes you to those villages

miles of olive trees,

fertile lands basking in sun,

a journey that demands patience

but gifts magic in return.

I am that hidden destination

that only curious, patient travelers reach.

The ones who aren’t afraid to get lost

in order to be found.

And in that meeting

that’s where the magic lives.

---