Azahar (Orange Blossom) are fragments of a decade of uprooting, an exodus of geographical and emotional fragments of territory. They are “love and revelry in Andalusian” in a text composed of poems that are not fully digested and others that bite. Revelry comes from “haram,” from the forbidden. When love and the forbidden intersect, a fight arises, a desire almost tinged with rage, and a constant struggle that trickles down between generations and forms a matrilineal legacy.

Through an imaginary of ancestors, mythology, and Andalusian folklore, the work exposes a cacophony of uprooted female voices, inhabiting fantasy as a tool of liberation. These hybrid and sometimes chimerical bodies and identities navigate the stigma of their form but also the resilience to reassemble as they see fit. They draw on the symbolism of falling mountains, smoking and howling fish, moons as companions, and tigers and lions as figures of protection. These fantastic figures harbor within themselves the most vulnerable and, at the same time, are the roaring part that saves us. They uproot themselves to give themselves wings and escape boredom, while simultaneously forgetting the South and losing the land. They root themselves again to delve into lost roots and return to the domestic battlefield. For uprooting is nothing more than another cartography.

They ask themselves: can you leave without coming back?