Cuba Poems

5/30/2017

the ladder was a call at work

cancelled future in the server side-

station, it was sharpened rungs

of failure and stagnancy

and failure and self-doubt,

but here I am, sunrise on the wing, metal bouncing

garrulously in the clouds, here

I am flirting with my fate as I ride

Through the deer paths of a military airport.

I am skimming today with my teeth

So that tomorrow is all sweet

And the bitter taste of ring will have

Washed away before I kiss my love.

Beside me she fold her hands

In her lap, gold Bengals jangling

Against “killing jesus,” behind

They are buying homes in Boca

And discussing the suffering of air-conditioning.

We’ve got to hold that sky above

Our heads as we cross these flood waters.

We’ve got to bang the mud from our boots

Before we walk in. I am reading about death

In the house of god, I am

Scratching my toes on vinyl carpers

While a strong wind runs through

The sparkling swamps. Every moment

That brings me her is a prayer. Every

Breath today is full of green and beige grasses,

Dry rasp of sun on concrete,

The thrum of rolling things

Closeby, and water condensing

On leathered skin. My bones

Are coming forth, I am present,

I am here, for the details

Of experience and the hum of history

Growing like a curled fern,

Hineini, I am ready.
**********************************

We are cradled by

the earth’s mistakes, lying

in the cooling shadows

of its puckered scars,

sucking juice from its

swollen vegetation. Santa domingo—

the cabbies all pretend to fear you

for your highs and lows—

you sweep me up in your birthday

processions dow the street,

in the gugrling of rio yaio

far below—your swarms of dragon flies

in gathering dusk do not scare me off,

nor do the clouds of yellow butterflies in your

storm drains. I will gladly

sit any day of my life

eating arroz con pollo with a beer

and my love beside me. I am pressed

to see why we seek else

if earths mistakes are like this.

though you are barren of streetlights

children wander your hills

with flashlights looking

for mischief. What you lack

in wealth is doled out in necessity

-- what else is there

but finishing a day of work, lifting a shirt wet

with sweat off of you

and gathering in the moonlight

to laugh and sing, to eat and dance,

to lay with your love

by a whirring fan and kiss her goodnight?
**********************************

5/31/2017

blurry the day starts

the fans turn off

and she is in a panic

what will we do tomorrow

what will we ever do

in the dark we reach

for each other, I stroke

her hair, we do not have

to hike the mountain,

we can lay in its shadow

by the water, we

can sleep and read and

gaze at each other, there

is no requirement here,

I pull her close

And we sleep.

The morning is green

And the water runs clear,

The cocks cow continually and we

Drink coffee slowly

Before beginning our ascent.
**********************************

Almost at the age—

Everyone wears military green—

The incomprehensible smile across

Language, broken toothed—

30 and one of the oldest—

tall and smug in the sun his face

remains at “ola”—

we remain at the top of the mountain

haggling over ideological clarity—

waiting for Miguel to bring us lunch.

He never does, the river bloats

With rain, browning with silt and the

White mules try in vain to escape.

The stars are here but we know not

There shape—head of a wild dog

Peering out in fear and curiosity

From a thousand years away.

If these mountains stay, they

Will bear our names as we bear

Theirs in the journey, listening

To water for the cue

Of when to stay and go.
**********************************

6/2/2017

the sun sets beyond the mountains

oike a flame behind a veil,

and noone is looking.

We munch ears of corn and

Soft serve ice-cream on the military

Benches, old men stare at the women.

It gets hot before it gets cold,

4 hours streaking across narrow paths,

ritualistically turning towards

 then away from the face.

Every house has electricity.

And every house a school. And

Every person a house. Goodbye carlos,

With your good and evil,

your concocted story to get us to Guantanamo.

Goodbye Troy, with your nervous smile,

Your hand reaching up,

Your warm and fleeing eyes. Goodbye

Barbaro, with your claims of an empty bus

Goodbye Ulysses, with your fresh limes by the river.

Goodbye, goodbye.

My heart is wailing along a racetrack

Far ahead of my body.

It is already missing her browned shoulders,

her hanging breasts,

Her eyes like cracking thunder. I try

To whisper a prayer but

The wind takes it. Today is fast.

I can feel all that is beautiful

Like it is in my hand and slipping

Through my fingers. But it is enough,

I think. We dine on the rooftop,

Lobster and music and English.

I have beer, through we do not have the money.

It is enough to make once cry.

I sit across from her and for a moment,

She is far away, we are far off

From each other in a distant land, alone

In the shadows of el yunque.

But in the dark we make love

And there is music that existed

Before either of us,

 And a feeling that will never die. We lie back

And laugh in the same key

As the ocean. It is enough—

Tomorrow’s sun rises.
***************************************

6/3/2017

who will go with me

into air-conditioned rooms

whose taps you may not touch, through

lampless streets of dust

and volcanic sharpness, across

bridgeless expanses of ocean threaded

with webs of roots, while black holes

spin across the sky?

Will you watch the mountains

Open their dark mouths wide,

The palm trees prideful staring

As the wind sweeps their hair?

Who can stay with this—

The small yellow in a sea of blue,

Conviction collected across the skin

In a freckled solar system, beads of water

Spraying light every which way, a few

Locks let loose of the tail dancing across

Her face, and the many legs of her hand

Walking across my chest like a farmer

Familiar to his land?

The tide has come in now

Water here for all.

On the mountain, solitary lights blink

On at dusk, outside the information,

Children play and the old strum guitars

And they wait for the doors to open.

Water collects in pools

On the harsh surface, they warm and some

Dry up before another tide rolls in.

Can you feel the rat- ttat-tat-t of the cubano

Spilling into the street?

The hunger for more slides it way along gracefully

So we wander, ask for eggs and a beer, linger

Too long, unwittingly make a constellation

We did not choose.

There is more out there but also

More here. Who is ready for inner space

travel, plumbing the depths while the world

watches on in disbelief? What flag shall we plant there?

Come, let us discuss this and more—

We are not the old but the young, not

The buildings but the workers,

Writers and not books, lovers,

Lovers of each other and ourselves

And this beautiful land, lovers

Above all else. Let us be a seed together

In a room or in the jungle. Let us

Cozy and squeeze and be ready

To burst forth.

She wears the necklace that I believe

Is creation, readiness is all.

Every moments asks us:

Are you ready to give all

And know it will come back,?

You may move and grow and love

As the tide in the ocean.
***************************************

6/6/2017

the night tastes of steadily stronger

Havana club, and the city draws in

Towards el yunque as lungs to a heart.

The bay is pacified tonight and we

Have no trouble stepping over rubble

To a lightless vegetarian restaurant.

Things are not mute, they sing to us, call

Out the presence they demand—

Be sacred. Hold us in your heart.

She wakes sick, goes to bed

Sick, the air is thick and i

Wonder how she can breathe. Today

We traverse the mountains in secret.

Today the coffee tastes like red wine.

We spend what we have. He is taking

Wood from the debris for his house—

He who was the premiere photographer

In Baracoa. He smiles. This

Is how we build—piece by piece—

Like this. I have friends, I make love,

I cook, I work. This is my life. And the pals standing

Lonely on the mountains—what of them? What of

The deep purple of the bay

swallowing the fishing boats as night

sweeps in? What of the dancing

legs of the man in a soccer jersey

as he avoids the Barracuda and then

lifts it into the sun?

we are using a different currency. The cock

continually cries to wake us—this dream

is coming to an end. Deep in yumurri

canyon, I could have leapt, could have

cried for death as we pressed

our bodies in the cool water and I saw

myself in her eyes. The green

was so total—plants growing in

the air and the sound of birds

everywhere in the almond trees.

The remembrance will be sweet but

Not so sharp—as coffee late in the day

Or the way my back purses with burn.

I have fallen in love too many times

To count, with her again and again,

with these mornings, with this

land,  with is possibilities

for us. It does not stand quiet

and pretty. Cuba is naked

and defiant in the hot wind,

watching as we depart, its fierce eyes saying

“join me or die alive, asleep.”

We are dreaming now of revolution, arms and

Legs entwined, but she grows sick

And as fruitful as is our love,

We need more to live forever.
***************************************

6/ 8/ 2017

And as we leave there are fever dreams,

Of this islands water

And pleading to the deep eyes of the storm

God. The visitor in me

Has left, and all witnesses from without

Are gone. I am left in the heat.

Travelers will ask much of you

When they see your beauty.

Grow like a rosebush if that is your wish,

Or like an orchid in the underjungle, or like

A dog with small legs trotting off.

There is nothing you must give.

I am in a dirty room unpacking

You with every piece of clothing

And shell. My body has been unpacking itself

For days, shutting down digestion, then the muscles and eyes—

Today I could only speak. I woke up

Vomiting

And still have not eaten.

The world worms its way through to words.

To take out the book

Felt an arduous task.

But you are in a hotel room

In Chicago, and everything that has

Left me is, I trust, with you. And shall

Be returned as the air I breathe

I feel flows past the full moon and into you.

I know, when I open my mouth again,

I will taste you on the breeze.