Gypsy - Paiting by Pia DeStefano

She says she's not a gypsy, but I know her soul is. Her eyes tell of a mischivious youth, lovers lost, dances danced, wines tasted, kisses wasted, and hurts beyond belief. If you sit with her, she'll tell you a story. Maybe about how she danced in the streets at Carnival while her long black hair trailed behind her like the tail of an ebony kite. How she once was married, but realized on the way from the chapel that marriage wasn't for her so she climbed out a window to escape. How she knew a man in Sinaloa who promised to take her away, but all he took was her heart. Of a beach in Morocco where she wrote her name in the sand and ran out to meet the waves. Of the child she left behind with her mother in San Jose . Of how she was almost Fred Astair's other half and how she used to do everything he did, but backwards and in high heels. Of curanderas in Mexico who always smelled of incense and rotting leaves. About how she sang in Salsa clubs and danced the Merengue with cocoa skinned men in fedoras. She says she's not a gypsy - but I know her soul is. A gypsy soul can never be content in one place - even if the body can no longer keep up. So she talks. To whomever will listen. So that the gyspy soul that lives inside her can satisfy its wanderlust - just like the 2 of them used to do.